


Mercy for President

by Bracketyjack



Series: Mercy Rocks [2]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: F/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 64
Words: 309,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bracketyjack/pseuds/Bracketyjack
Summary: An even more AU sequel to *Earth Shaken* that does exactly what it says on the tin. A long novel of action, humour, politics, and manners featuring assorted Fae, Elder Spirits and Amerindian culture, a cool troll, some bicentenarians, a lot of speeches, vampire slaying, magic swords, a manitou or two, the Gateway to the West, school intranets to die for, and some very fine music. Mercy ; aka She Doesn't Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In it ; aka Lone Elk Stampede.
Series: Mercy Rocks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804096
Comments: 265
Kudos: 71





	1. I : Madness & Method -- chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As a sequel to my very AU Mercyverse novel Earth Shaken (posted here in early 2019), this tale will make precious little sense without it ; and as that AU was already confessedly out-of-control, thanks to Medicine Wolf, so this one cheerfully goes even further west. I add the warning that it’s also a wish-fulfilment because I’ve given our favourite coyote-girl all the cards she needs to bounce into the White House, and then some more, so things do Go Her Way rather more than is reasonable. Mea culpa.
> 
> I had fun writing it, and I hope you have fun reading it, but please don’t complain that my Mercy is by now more than a tad OOC in various ways —that’s what happens if you start giving characters AU experiences, because they have to change to meet them. Oh and rather than retcon myself, I’m mildly adjusting canon to say Asil the Moor was born somewhat before the Battle of Tours, rather than just after it, making him 1300+ rather than 1300-.
> 
> It’s insanely long, of course, but I don’t do much that isn’t, and Mercy had to do even more fast talking than usual in this one. I’m also well aware I’m taking many liberties with all sorts of things, including the electoral processes mandated by law in the USA, but this is fiction, and anyway I’m hardly the only one. And while my outgoing POTUS firmly remains namelessly ‘the Man’, with no stated party, and Mercy is even more firmly an Independent, I will say that I’d greatly prefer her to the present incumbent, and writing this was a form of escape from his deeply disturbing un/reality, as well as my own on this side of the pond. As a result it’s differently comic than Earth Shaken, though not, I hope, less enjoyable, and Mercy still repeatedly Drops People Right In It.
> 
> One warning. You can’t write a novel about a presidential election without being political, even if the preternatural is heavily involved. I refer only to the main parties, never using names, but it’s obvious, and for anyone with any knowledge of present RL representatives, so are two unnamed but implicit individuals. And while there are plenty of US political topics about which I as a non-citizen know little and care less, there are others, from race relations to gun control and mitigating pollution, about which I do care, and inevitably make my position clear when Mercy is giving major speeches. And as I am politically more-or-less covered by ‘liberal’, a term weirdly damned in US political discourse, I ask readers who dislike such politics not to complain but rather to go read something else more congenial. Sincere criticism is welcome, but I will not respond to objections that seem primarily political, there being no point.
> 
> I know the politics also makes for what some may find boring bits, but alas, I couldn’t see any way round it, given the scenario. And there is action too. Please note also that this was completed before Covid struck, and well before the violence that began in Minneapolis, and I haven’t changed anything : this is upbeat, in the end, even for those pesky vamps.
> 
> As before, in telephone conversations the present speaker’s words are in the usual “inverted commas”, but the voice over the phone is in , because with wolf and fae hearing it may matter whether anyone present can hear both sides of the conversation, or only one. This does not apply, though, to calls using Adam’s encrypted system, which has full AV.
> 
> B’jack, June 2020.

**I : Madness and Method**

_5 th – 27th April_

**Chapter One**

EVEN thinking about running for president was eating into my down-time, and there wasn’t anything not immediately fatal I wanted to do less — but here I was all the same. Jesse started it with _#MercyForPresident_ , which to my horror trended for months, picking up likes, retweets, and whatever well into nine figures and still climbing, while people I trusted started giving me thoughtful looks. Nor had my all-too-nearly father been of much use, thinking it a splendid joke on me and everyone else that augured well, and pointing out at length that however I might feel about politicians, coyotes were tricksters too, the difference being that politicians had forgotten the important distinction between cleverly counting coup and telling bare-faced lies, so wasn’t it time someone reminded them? Especially as none of the main-party hopefuls jostling for position as the electoral cycle began to run hot gave any sign of being worth spit even if you were human, never mind of use to preternaturals?

That was unhappily true, and though the Medicine Wolf Accords had been ratified, and the Columbia Restoration had enough momentum I doubted it could be derailed, I was very disappointed with the line-up of candidates. Blinkered by corporate interests, or their own fossilised SOP, they were mostly trying out lines about needing to get back to business as usual after all the excitement caused by Medicine Wolf, which was about wanting to head off green initiatives the Man and Glen Sawyer were pushing because they hurt short-term dividends. Having had a coronary, the VP was retiring, and the Man pointedly hadn’t endorsed anyone or done any fundraising, saying in several major speeches that while of course safe hands were needed, so was vision, just now, and fierce integrity, to make sure what had been purged couldn’t come back, and what had been gained could continue to grow to benefit all.

The deep national shame of Cantrip’s hundreds of murders and ghastly experiments, with the Man’s mind-expanding experiences in Kennewick, had given him an unexpected cause and motive, rekindling enthusiasm for getting things done, and even Adam admitted he really had risen to a challenge — as his ratings confirmed. He kept in occasional touch with Adam and me, asking sensible questions about putative appointees to Deputy Directorships of the new Federal Bureau of Preternatural Affairs, and lately spending a day he called a wonderful break from the Beltway meeting a bunch of First People and watching integrated magic, troll strength, and engineering remove the top layers of The Dalles dam. With Bonneville dam reduced by more than half the lower Columbia Gorge had started to drain, and if the party when Celilo Falls finally showed up again was going to be a lot bigger, the Yakama Nation had been happy to make an early start. I was saying it was all excellent publicity for interspecies cooperation when the Man quietly remarked it was also excellent publicity for me, and I really should think about using that fact.

“I know you’re not taking that hashtag seriously, Ms Hauptman, but you’ll have turned thirty-five by next January, so there’s no bar, and for my money you could at the very least scare the pants off everyone who’s already announced. I also think that while every president gets to tear their hair out often enough, for reasons good, bad, and plain silly, you’re a lot better qualified than you think, and even if you didn’t win you could shake things up to everyone’s benefit. Our party system is unfit for purpose, and most of us know it. Money alone has never been enough for an independent candidate to push its dead weight aside, but I wouldn’t bet against you being able to do just that this year, and you could deal better than anyone with preternatural affairs and problems, so do please think about it hard.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “And you would have my endorsement, for whatever it may still be worth.”

You could have knocked me down with any feather, never mind the one of Thunderbird’s I had in my hair, but the interview Medicine Wolf was giving with a pleased expression ended and I had to go back to making nice for the cameras. On the way home Brent, the lone-wolf black-belt bodyguard Adam insisted on, politely agreed it was a ridiculous idea, but added he could see why people would like it, and I’d certainly have his vote. When I vented to Adam that evening he worried me by looking unhappily thoughtful some more. And four days later, with the full-moon hunt past, the Man’s private suggestion was followed by a surprise visit by Bran to see what I thought of it, so I knew I was in real trouble. He found me in the kitchen, because although I’d had the garage rebuilt, on principle, I’d stopped accepting new customers, for security reasons, so it was open only one day a week, if that, and while I now had _Clean Up the Basin!_ to run, cooking took up some slack as well as being useful and soothing me. I put down a knife very carefully and gave him a look of shocked incredulity.

“Bran, have you lost your mind? Coyote girl, remember? Peanut butter, wrecked cars? All-round chaos and tears before bedtime?”

Bran waved a hand. “That was a while back, Mercy, and you were not then remotely what you are now. The Man is quite right about those poll numbers — you remain exceptionally popular and strongly admired in ways that would translate into a high share of the vote. Whether it would be high enough no-one will know unless it happens, but it is not a foolish idea.”

I stared some more, trying to process, and as nothing was yet in need of stirring made myself hot chocolate and sat opposite him.

“Isn’t it, Bran? I’m a mixed-race female coyote who’ll barely be of constitutional age, has never held elected office, and has only the most impromptu political experience. My only paying job in the last decade has been as a mechanic, the garage would be bankrupt if Adam and I weren’t treating it as an overhead, and you think I should apply to run the _country_?”

He smiled. “I am beginning to, Mercy. Your identity and outsider status are very much the point, and while your opponents would doubtless harp on youth and political inexperience I strongly suspect they would find it gained them very little traction. More-or-less everyone on the planet has seen you dealing, superbly, with intense and sustained pressure, so they _know_ you can cope. They also know you drove the prison search, were instrumental in putting Heuter on death row, and were the principal broker of the Medicine Wolf Accords, so you would have a great deal of domestic and international authority. Diplomatic clout, as well — who else can say they’ve pioneered inter-species treaties? As to the economy, it is what it is, always, but the Columbia and Cascadia projects are mandating major infrastructural investment, federal, state, and private, while the need to absorb the costs of getting greener is beginning to be accepted, so unless the bankers do something stupid again it should look after itself well enough. And there is the symbolism — which as that is a real talent of yours would be … something else. The first female, Amerindian, and preternatural president, and second non-Anglo, as well as the youngest ever, never mind since Kennedy. The inauguration would be spectacular.”

 _That_ was a very un-Marrok-like argument, even recalibrating for a post-Medicine-Wolf Bran, and I drank chocolate while doing some belated sideways thinking.

“Bran, even knowing how devious you can be, I don’t think you’d be pushing this at me without having talked to Adam. So, some straight answers please. Did you overrule him?”

“I didn’t have to, Mercy. He’s not happy about it, of course, but most of that’s reflex, wanting to lock you in the house and snarl at anyone who dares approach, and he sees as well as I do that there is real potential here, of a kind it is not wise to ignore. He also agrees someone has to make you think about it properly, and was not unwilling that should be me.”

As I’d been quite grumpy about it, in pure shock, that made unhappy sense too, and I sighed.

“And what will other Alphas have to say? I can’t believe most of them wouldn’t have seizures at the mere thought.”

Bran grinned. “Some, yes, but many might surprise you, Mercy, as Hank Dawson did. Alphas are of necessity pragmatic, whatever their feelings, and you generated a great deal of respect among them, as well as astonishment and deep gratitude for the way you dealt with Paul Harris.”

“Huh. At his court martial half of them seemed to think the way I’d treated him was a mitigating factor.”

“A little, yes, but that was more to do with your inventing the rule about those on final warning having no right to challenge their Alpha than anything else. They saw the sense, but it was still a fast one to pull, and they all knew the capital sentence was going to have to be commuted, so reasons to do so were at a premium.”

“And huh again.” I hadn’t been amused at the time, but that did make sense of a sort. “So you’re saying I’d have real wolf support without any order from you?”

“I do not tell wolves how to vote, Mercy, ever. But while you’d need to talk to assembled Alphas before anything was announced, yes, you would. Very real, and not least because destruction of Cantrip and Bright Future, with the crippling exposure of the JLS, has signally eased the lives of most wolves and all human spouses and children. And there is the green element. Wolves who survive to lead tend to be conservative, yes, but they also know exactly how bad the environmental damage is, and like Charles have no objection whatever to rolling it back in any way possible.” He gave me a slyer smile. “A coyote may still affront wolf sensibilities, but you are mated to a well-liked wolf, and human politicians are a greater affront.”

“So I’m the best of a bad bargain?”

“Or the pick of the bunch, by a long way.”

“Of a dreadful bunch.” But he had points, and I shifted to bigger issues. The Fae had appointed an ambassador, in the unlikely shape of Baba Yaga, but while she made occasional appearances by flying mortar she had no more wish to live in DC than the reciprocal human ambassador to live Underhill, so it was still a more symbolic than practical arrangement and if I ran I would once again be playing coyote in the middle. “And the Gray Lords?”

“Have indicated that they too think you should consider it seriously, though ap Lugh told me that while they were glad to take every advantage they could of your refusal to acknowledge the debt they owe you, none would pressure you in this against your will. _One does not repay any debt with blackmail, Bran Cornick, and Mercedes Elf-friend would not take kindly to it._ ” Bran’s imitation was pretty good, and I suppressed a snort at ap Lugh’s wording while noting that ‘Elf-friend’. “But they would be glad to see you step forward again, and have strongly implied a willingness to help.”

“Un huh, Bran. Foreign powers, campaign donations.”

“There is that, yes. But that concerns money.”

“Which would be another whole can of worms. This kind of thinking eats millions of dollars for breakfast, never mind lunch, and I’m damned if I’m risking Adam’s or Jesse’s financial security, or my own, for a left-field presidential bid. But I’ll agree there’s money and then there’s magic.” And fae magic might matter a lot. I faced the thing that was really bugging me squarely. “Vamps?”

His face sobered. “Yes indeed. What of them?”

I went back to chopping, setting a wok full of what would become stir-fry or pasta accompaniment to simmer while I thought. Then I replenished Bran’s coffee and leaned against the counter, giving the wok an occasional stir.

“It all still seems lunacy to me, Bran, but one bottom line is that I could not be in national authority and do nothing about the way most vamps treat their sheep. I could live and let live, if they did, but except for Stefan and Thomas Hao, they don’t. Right now my obligations are to family and wolves, Medicine Wolf, avatars, and in some measure fae. I can’t do anything effective about vamps and their horrid habits, and much as I regret their victims I have nothing beyond general pity as a motive to take the staggering risks involved in trying it on. But being elected, or even asking to be elected, would change every one of those parameters.”

“And so more than me have calculated, Mercy. It’s a big reason for Adam’s wariness, and I agree there would have to be trouble. But there is trouble anyway. You are right about the cost to those preternaturals who have reached accord with humans of continuing to conceal the existence of vampires, and right again that sooner or later the lid will come off, painfully. Ap Lugh will not speak to the Undead unless he must, but I have told Marsilia and others more than once that they need to be prepared for exposure, yet they still equate it with sunlight, their gerontocracy is a _lot_ more rigid than mine, and I have no particular reason to enforce any … deadline.”

The penny dropped. “Which you actually want, and I would provide?”

“It is a possibility, yes. Packs already hold down seethes in a dozen cities, which wastes our time, and while I grant that Stefan Uccello and Thomas Hao are not unreasonable beings, the rest would not be missed.” He shrugged. “Forgive the analogy, but it’s a burning fuse and someone is going to have to piss on it sooner or later.”

That was also very un-Bran, and I shook my head. “Medicine Wolf may have made you a bit too mellow, Bran. But I’m not equipped like that Belgian kid they turned into a statue, my desire to make myself a target of enraged vamps everywhere is nil, and who says they’d only target me? Exposing them here will expose them everywhere, so it’s the Master of the Night who’d have to be put on notice, not just Marsilia and Wulfe.”

“True. And you are very right to be wary. But you have a remarkable track record against vampires, Mercy, and that was without anything like the kind of support you would have if you do this.” He gave me a shrewd look. “And if something would be very good for wolves, avatars, and fae, as well as humans, do vampires get a veto?”

I nodded reluctantly, but waggled a hand. “Point. But how about good for me? And even more, good for Jesse? And Adam? The pack?”

“Mmm. Only you can answer about yourself, Mercy, but I doubt you would be bored in office, and former presidents have many interesting opportunities.” I blinked. “And for Adam and Jesse, there would certainly be pros as well as the obvious cons. An Alpha as First Gentleman would be no bad thing, especially one as good at security as Adam, while Jesse would have four years of the best non-magical protection there is, whether she finished high school here or in DC, and for the first three years at any university she got into, all without any bills.” He gave an austere smile I thought was entirely calculated. “I agree you would not want the pack living at the White House, but why should they? In the event, you would no doubt make this a western White House anyway. A lot of travelling, yes, but you have the cloak, and there would be no problem with Adam accompanying you. Nor with Jesse, I would imagine.”

I did some more thinking while I decanted the wok into Tupperware boxes, sealed and labelled them, and set them to cool. Then I sat back down, and gave Bran a hard look.

“Answers, answers. Alright, Bran, I get that you really do think this insanity is a good idea, and I will try to process it beyond saying WTF? at regular intervals. I will also talk to Adam and Jesse, who each have absolute vetoes, and if we get that far Adam and I will talk to the pack. But I tell you straight, I see far more serious problems than opportunities.”

“Such as?”

“Besides vamps and the constitutionality of fae contact — and it’s all very well you talking about using the cloak, but would it even be legal for a sitting president to commute via foreign territory several times a week? — try funding, inciting all the haters to get re-organised at top speed, finding someone silly enough to serve as a running mate, and all the _other_ campaigns that would be necessary, federal and state, because sticking me in the White House” — it sounded so absurd — “while leaving the Senate and House in main-party hands is just a recipe for legislative gridlock. Trying to wrangle them would leave no time for anything else, and for all I might have some big POTUS sticks to wave around I’d have no real leverage with either party. And they’d all be in shock anyway, besides having no reason whatever to be co-operative.” Seeing difficulties pile up impossibly I warmed to the theme. “And if we’re pushing that Constitutional amendment about preternatural rights, it’ll be state legislatures that need to ratify it, and that’s a hundred more chambers and fifty governorships to think about. So add funding, funding, and funding, again, as well as any number of campaign staff, and what platform anyone, including me, might be running on besides _be nicer to preternaturals, Amerindians, women, and the environment, hey?_ ”

Irritatingly, Bran just waved a hand again. “Mostly true also, Mercy, and yes, there will be many very real problems. But thought through properly as legislative, social, and ecological intents, those are no bad policies, and the fact remains that the immense popularity and respect you earned last year has been remarkably sustained by every measure anyone can think of. Your display of power during the Heuter trial and high visibility in managing First People affected by the Columbia Restoration have added to it. And if you won, both main parties would not only be badly shaken and as chastened as is possible for them — they would have no partisan reason to oppose an independent president, and every reason to try to win back some of the territory you would have taken from them. You would also have cabinet posts to fill, and many powers they would wish to court.” He offered a more genuine smile, with some warmth in it. “It is not a thing I would force on anyone, not that forcing you to do anything has ever worked well, but as Marrok I cannot ignore such potential, so I do ask you do that serious thinking and consulting, without further delay.”

He did stop pushing, but a carefully restrained Bran was not much less of a weight to deal with, and after he’d headed back to some private airstrip outside Burbank where he’d parked the Cessna I tried thinking about it some more, gave up with a snort, and after warning Honey and George, who were on guard shift, I collected an amused Brent, went coyote, and spent the afternoon giving some local rabbits a hard time, which entertained our resident brownies and pixies. I didn’t kill any rabbits, but they got some much-needed exercise and so did I.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

By the time Brent and I got back the sun was setting, Adam was home from work, and Jesse from school, both giving me looks as I trotted through the kitchen. It wasn’t Adam’s usual hangout but he was still sitting at the table with Jesse when I came back down, having showered and changed, and once I’d made hot chocolate and snagged a brownie, I joined them.

“You knew Bran was coming, love?”

“I knew he hoped to make it today, yes, and he called to say he had and you’d promised to do some thinking.” Adam sighed. “It’s nothing I want, Mercy, and the vamp problem worries me a great deal, but Bran is not wrong about the opportunity to shake things up some more, at minimum.”

“You could have told me.”

“And you’d have asked what Bran thought.” He had a point. “I’ve been wondering about those poll numbers for a while, Mercy, because they are _very_ strong, and the Man has clearly seen the same thing, which is not a judgement to dismiss lightly. I don’t think you’re under any obligation to anyone, and it’s true almost all the policy issues that matter have considerable momentum. But that’s with the Man and Sawyer pushing hard, and once they leave office the picture will change. The Cascadia evacuation is a factor, but assuming things go to plan that will be over before the election so greener politics _will_ clog up again unless something or someone is pushing them.”

“I get that. But” — I held up a finger, then a second — “Adam Hauptman, First Gentleman, and Jesse Hauptman, First Daughter, neither with any way out of it whatever happens. Secret Service all over everything, and we’ve seen what they can be like. Major privacy issues. Even more idiot reporters all the time. Beltway functions galore, meaning some murderous boredom as well as a few kicks. Insane amounts of travel, even if Underhill agrees to commuting by cloak and it’s constitutional. Compulsory overseas trips that probably can’t be scheduled to avoid full moons. And who knows what else, but add predator and trickster dynamics pushing at everything, and an infinite weight of expectations from Bran, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, and probably Medicine Wolf too. Even assuming I’m willing to stick my head in a blender and ask people to vote to turn it on, I do _not_ want to do that to you or Jesse, and I’m surprised you don’t want to veto the whole thing on her behalf, end of story.”

Adam sighed again and Jesse looked down at the table.

“I more or less do, love, but Jesse persuaded me I really can’t.”

I looked at Jesse, eyebrows as high as they go, and she lifted her head to meet my gaze with some defiance.

“I know I said that hashtag started as a joke, Mom, and in the moment it was — a good and grateful joke, like Tom’s triple bows of awesomeness. But it was always more than that, which is what the poll numbers show. I meant every word when I told you you’re the best thing that ever happened to Dad, or to me, but you’ve also been the best thing that’s happened to the country in the last while, and I really do think you can be it some more. So does everyone my age I know well enough to ask, and for the same reason, which boils down to being consistently awesome and what Mr Roberts in Social Affairs calls inclusivity. You fix things on behalf of everyone you can — humans and preternaturals of all kinds. How much does personal hassle matter, next to that? I really don’t want to live in DC, but I’ll suck it up if I have to, and tighter personal security, though I don’t know what could be tightened much. And flying a lot, if I can’t come with you via Underhill, though my rose doesn’t think that would be a problem. I’ll also volunteer to sit on Gramps as much as necessary, though I actually think he’ll be good with it. Mostly, anyway — he really wants bison migration restored, and that ought to be possible. Darryl and Andrea agree, and they’ve been looking at it pretty carefully, for science and legal stuff.” She took a deep breath. “And beyond all that, win or lose, I think that if you don’t give it a shot you’ll end up wondering if you should have, for a _long_ time. And I do _not_ want to be the reason you didn’t. Nor does Dad, though the First Gentleman stuff weirds him out a lot more than he’s saying and he’ll grumble endlessly about having to wear tuxes.”

“Well, hell. I know you grew up a whole bunch, ex-kiddo, but do you have to think so clearly?”

I brooded over the dregs of my chocolate amid a silence that slowly became more companionable, and finally blew out a long breath.

“Alright. It’s still close to the very last thing I want, but I plainly do have an obligation to think the insanity through a lot harder than I have, so I will. But. Adam, what happens if we are in real disagreement about something? If I’ve taken the oath of office, it will be at odds with the pack’s proper hierarchy — and assuming any of the present contenders have even half-a-brain, I _will_ be asked about that. And I will _not_ apply for a job that getting would make _us_ unworkable.”

He just shrugged. “You are now no less dominant than I am, Mercy, unless you choose to be, and if Skuffles is involved, more so. I don’t really understand, nor does Bran, but it’s partly because you have always come to the pack hierarchy from outside, and partly your amalgam of magics, as well as some X-factor I chalk up to my not-exactly father-in-law. And my wolf knows it as well as I do. I imagine I will do some growling from time to time, but we will get by, and we will survive.”

The quotation was soothing. Every silver lining might have a touch of grey, but no-one lived without experiencing those. If I was still breathing, and good with Adam and Jesse, I could cope with most things, however there were still several hundred urgent questions to look at squarely, and not many fewer beings to talk to, before I could decide anything. And somewhere a sense of resignation was entering my heart, as well as a traitorous coyote excitement and laughter at the absurdity of it. Another thought crossed my brain.

“Christy will spit blood at the idea.”

This time it was Jesse who shrugged.

“And your point is, Mom? Yeah, she will. Who cares?”

“Three to two she’ll start another custody claim.”

Jesse’s voice went colder. “If she does I’ll give Caroline an interview that’ll make her think dyed hair was way mild. Understanding why she is so unwilling to confront herself has left me all out of patience. And any court’s call on who owns me is moot as of next year.”

Though Medicine Wolf’s glass had helped Jesse with memories of Kerrigan’s blood, she’d still needed counselling, seeing one of the post-trauma people treating the Freed, and had learned a lot. Some school classes had been helpful too, as had Sally Willis and Jenna Fisher, Andrea, and the singing her graunts had done when she finally met them, at a big Yakama pow-wow to welcome Medicine Wolf and the Columbia Restoration. I wasn’t sure even God understood the workings of what passed for Christy’s mind, but I knew she rubbished any kind of counselling because it would make her think about how frantically _and_ calculatingly she used her sexuality, and what that had done to her daughter and Adam. Since the divorce Jesse had understood with cruel clarity that to Christy she was a trophy to claim or sulk about losing, not a responsibility, or just beloved, but as she hadn’t much cared _why_ she kept being abandoned for days on end she’d filed Christie’s drive to whammy strange men in hotel rooms under ‘stupid things adults do’. Now connections between compulsive promiscuity and wilful denial had snapped into focus, with some dos and don’ts about the birds and bees from me, and, grasping the perversity of debasing yourself to feel better, Jesse had seen that her own reluctance to admit psychic need wasn’t just Adam’s Alpha-stoicism but also Christy’s scorn for anything that might imply she wasn’t the sexiest thing since sliced bread, and twice as wholesome. I hated that Jesse had had to understand that, but glad she did, so I just nodded.

“Alright, Jesse. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, if it happens. And this is only an I’ll think about it, not a yes. Whatever opportunities there may be, there are severe risks, with vamps top of the list, and certain costs, to all of us, that I don’t yet know if I’m willing to incur.”

“I hear you, Mom. What’s the vampire problem?”

“I couldn’t take on national responsibility and not deal with the way they almost all kill sheep needlessly, Jesse, and if they won’t out themselves they need to be outed — which they will try _anything_ to prevent. If it doesn’t happen this way it will some other, but this way their most obvious answer would be killing me or threatening you or Adam.”

“Oh. Not good.”

“No, it isn’t.” Adam’s voice had some growl. “But vamps are a running problem anyway, Mercy, and a lot of wolves would be glad to be rid of them. Will you talk to Stefan?”

“Not yet. If I agree, that would be a first step, if only so he can go under and stay out of it. Selling him down the river, pretty much, is one of the things I don’t yet know if I’m willing to do. And the first thing I have to find out is where the Fae really stand.”

“Bran said he’d spoken to you about that.”

“He did, but this is not something that can be agreed by proxy, and I’d want to be sure Underhill was content, whatever ap Lugh said.”

All sorts of thoughts were beginning to churn, but the simplest facts would do for now, and Adam nodded.

“I see that. Tomorrow?”

“Probably. I can make a call, anyway. And after that, if we get so far, Jim Alvin. This would be a big deal for all First People, and though they aren’t so many votes I don’t think that’s what would really matter.”

“No.” Adam gave me a look. “But you are now thinking, Mercy love, for better or worse. I’m sorry to have let Bran blindside you, but my feelings about the whole thing are too mixed.”

“I get that, and Bran does whatever he wants anyway. And now I’m going to get dinner — chasing all those rabbits made me hungry.”

“You didn’t eat any, Mom?”

“Nah.” I stood, ruffling Jesse’s hair, presently an interesting shade of green. “I wasn’t really trying to catch them, ex-kiddo, I just needed to chase something. Bran has that effect.”

Among others, and as I mashed potatoes, did a heap of greens, and grilled pork steaks, my backbrain kept right on turning. The Marrok would not be so open to a war with vamps without far more reasons than Bran had offered me, so there were agendas to tally. As he’d already talked to ap Lugh and other Gray Lords, one would be the clauses in the Wolf–Fae strand of the Medicine Wolf Accords that offered mutual defence against third-party attack, which I thought he’d been telling me the Fae were willing to invoke. Well and good, maybe. But I needed to find out just how much strain policing vamps was putting on how many packs, and therefore Bran, and while ap Lugh’s sharp dislike of all Undead was clear, and shared by other fae I knew, why they’d want a war that would be uncomfortably like ethnic cleansing was much murkier, so though I had ideas I needed to talk to Zee and Ariana.

There was also the longstanding animosity between vamps and avatars, with high casualty rolls on both sides — including my not-entirely father Joe, whom I’d never known but whose ghost once danced for me. Coyote had told me with a shrug neither he nor Joe could honestly complain, as they had been killing vamps and all’s fair in love and war, but my mom didn’t feel that way and at heart neither did I. Moreover, as vamps usually thought in the long to eternal term about everything except their poor sheep, and all the ones I knew were as twisty as it comes, even Stefan, there was also what any of them might be calculating. If the Man and Bran could see what the poll numbers meant, so could Wulfe, who had _made_ the Master of the Night and been cast off, and whom Stefan had said a while back was becoming quite impatient with what he’d called the narrowness of many members of Marsilia’s seethe. A certain thinning of the ranks might not be unwelcome to some, and while I had no interest in doing other people’s dirty work for them the point was getting a better deal for all sheep — a matter in which Wulfe was also, according to a surprised Stefan, showing some marked improvement.

Adam had gone to deal with email, and Jesse respected my silence while I cooked, helping to chop before surfing on her phone. Once we were eating, though, with Brent, and Warren, running the night shift, conversation was general. Prompted by Sally Willis, Jesse was fulfilling a Social Programmes requirement by undertaking educational school visits with whatever pack member was available, and they’d had a request from Wazzu on behalf of a freshman anthropology class that Principal Billings was good with if we were. I couldn’t see any objection, so long as Wazzu knew they were _not_ allowed to film it, and Adam agreed to talk to the relevant professor to make sure that was understood. He’d had a call from Ramona Velasquez to say the Freed Pack’s purchase of hunting land had at last come through — I made a mental note to thank the Man and Westfield, the huge damages the Freed had received from Heuter having been spared by a nominal federal price — and it was in the foothills by Rimrock, abutting the Yakama Reservation. As none of them knew that area at all, could someone who did accompany them to explore, sooner than later? I could combine it with seeing Jim Alvin, and after a call to check his schedule we agreed on Saturday, which meant re-arranging Brent’s day off. He didn’t mind, but had a request for a clear weekend next month as his parents in SF had elderly Japanese relatives visiting, and a maternal order to attend had been received. Warren grinned at the horse-trading, but added his two cents by offering to do the four-legged Wazzu visit as Kyle would be away on the day proposed.

“He has a case in Boise, boss. Custody. Ex-husband’s a piece of work, and the wife has a cousin who’s pack, so Kyle will have cover.”

Adam nodded. “I’m aware, Warren. Mark Hurley talked to me about it, because there are strong feelings about the husband. You don’t want to cover Kyle yourself?”

“Sorta, boss, but he gets antsy about being baby-sat, and I wouldn’t want to insult Mark. Wazzu would be an honourable reason all round.”

“Fair enough.” Adam cocked his head. “Thought any more about other Wazzu visits?”

Warren grimaced. He had accepted that when wolves did come clean about their ages, an increasingly urgent question the presidency thing would bring to a boil, he’d be the best face we had, but he didn’t like it. There would have to be broadcast interviews, but we hoped to narrow it from gawping curiosity to questions from historians with some actual motivation, however we were sanguine about the chances.

“Some, boss, and Kyle’s been helpful, but agrees we need at least a few others, to spread the heat. Any word on that?”

Adam shrugged. “More noises than words, but the bicentenarians in Texas, Kentucky, and Vermont aren’t going to have any more choice than you, when it comes to it. Problem still is that none of them came here until the 1880s or later, but you’ve been an American all along.”

I’d though Warren was born in the early 1800s, but his real DOB was 1776, in Spain’s nominal western territory. His parents had made it through the Indian lands west of the Thirteen Colonies, not least because his father had been a wolf, who managed to Change him so he could better protect his Ma, before getting himself killed by some savvier Indians who believed in beheading rather than scalping when things that should be dead went on twitching. But she hadn’t survived her husband by more than an hour or two, while Warren had been away dealing with cattle other illegal settlers had rustled, and after finding himself an orphan with a herd of reclaimed cattle he’d looked after two younger sibs until they’d died of smallpox in the 1810s, then drifted slowly west. The pain and loss were still very real to him, and I rested a hand on his arm.

“I’m so sorry it’s falling to you, Warren, but Adam at 68 and me at 34 just won’t cut it. And you know Charles can’t do it, or really old wolves.”

“It’s not on you, Mercy, and I’ve known it’s coming a long time. Besides, you’ve made for a way better … context, I suppose, than I’d ever imagined. But there is one thing, boss, because I agree with Kyle that if I’m coming out as pushing 250, I’m coming out as gay. It’ll up the hate in some places, I know, but I couldn’t be with him if I didn’t, or like the view in the mirror.”

Adam nodded, unperturbed. “Not a problem, Warren, as and when. But the when is probably sooner than later, especially if … certain things happen. We may be heading into more spotlight.”

Warren frowned, thinking about it, then looked at me. “I heard the Marrok was here, Mercy. He’s pushing you about those poll numbers?”

I sighed. Everyone seemed to know about it except me. “Yeah. The Marrok, no less, thinks having a coyote girl run for president is a good idea, even though it’ll mean a war with vamps.”

His eyes narrowed. “Screw them, excuse me, boss. And you get my vote, Mercy, in spades.”

I threw up my hands as Jesse and Brent grinned. “Wolves! You all deserve to find yourselves sitting in peanut butter, daily.”

Adam laughed. “The Man agrees with Bran, Warren, which is giving Mercy hives.”

“The Man? Interesting. I saw he had smarts, but label me impressed.”

“He’s offered to endorse her.”

The conversation went south from there, and I left them to it, preferring dreamless sleep, though I didn’t get much of that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I might have been short on sleep but my brain had cranked out a lot of questions and even one or two possible answers, so when Adam woke I had things to ask. He was surprised but thoughtful, promising to make some calls, and when he headed for the shower I pulled on sweats and went to find our resident earth fae.

The corner parcel of land we’d bought with money from the pictures of furry me Andrea sold did more than extend our river-frontage. It had a small creek, carrying overflow from the Columbia Irrigation Canal back to the river, and what had been some marshy ponds where the creek meandered. With help from an approving Medicine Wolf — which made it very good TV and a useful demo — it had taken only a morning to narrow and deepen the creek bed and adjust gradient, inducing a clearer, cleaner, and faster flow that could drive a couple of mini-turbines, giving us another green energy source not dependent on the grid. There was also a very small waterfall, just for the fun of it. Manitou magic accelerated the draining of sodden ground, adding irrigation to preserve larger trees and shrubs, and by the time the two brownies and two pixies who’d been freed in Wyoming turned up with a dozen friends and relations they’d been very happy to excavate a home by the waterfall. When a grove of mature oaks appeared one night, creating a small wood around what Jesse dubbed Earth Fae Falls, a surprised but happy Adam and I discovered the freed oakman, still firmly Underhill, was pleased to express some gladness, and the trees had shaped a central glade with a winding path leading to it. I’d had wooden seats set up, earth-fae size and a couple for humans, with a small table, which they liked, and after some argument there was a wood-cased phone within their home that linked to the house, in case of emergency. With false dawn lightening the eastern sky I sat in one of the human seats, Brent alert but relaxed behind me, and waited patiently.

It was only a few moments before Nuthatch, the senior brownie, appeared, and he had his pixie opposite number with him. Quite where Pirandella had collected her name I didn’t know, but it fitted her sharp features and red hair, and she and her kin had even more than brownies been pleased with the quality and variety of the clothing I’d casually left at various places in the garden. They weren’t children’s clothes — seeing small fae as childlike was always a mistake — but bespoke creations by a woman I knew in Pasco who’d been charmed by the request, and delighted to combine some style in earthy browns and greens with quality fabrics, including winter wear. They took seats, and I greeted them.

“Hello, Mercedes Elf-friend. Is all well? You are awake early today.”

“I am, Nuthatch, and though nothing is unwell now there may be some things happening soon, so I bring a warning, alas.”

“Of what should we beware?”

“It is only a possibility, Pirandella, but because of some human politics I may have to become involved in, it may be that the Undead will become angry with me. I know all pixies and brownies are very good at not being found by anything hostile, but there are Undead with unusual powers. And should any of you know any Undead to be nearby, we would be glad to know of it with all speed.”

“You would be glad for us to use the telephone?”

“I would, Nuthatch. But it is your safety that concerns me. Your dwelling here is known to many, and word may pass where it should not.”

“We will be careful, Mercedes Elf-friend, and are glad you think to warn us in good time.”

“That is so.” Pirandella gave me a shrewd look, which pixies do extremely well. “Is the human politics that may claim you this matter of becoming their leader for a while?”

I managed to swallow my surprise, but she saw and gave me a pixie grin, which they also do pretty well.

“It is, Pirandella. I did not know you followed human politics.”

“I do not, Mercedes Elf-friend, but I follow _your_ politics, and Gray Lords have been wondering aloud about the coming human election.”

Fae did not wonder aloud without reason, so even if ap Lugh wouldn’t try blackmail he was clearly willing to apply subtler pressures. Or not so subtle. More urgent questions were added to my list.

“That is interesting, though I am not at all sure Gray Lords have any proper business doing so.”

She shrugged. “You are of interest to all, and there was no malice in it that I heard.” Her eyes glinted in the strengthening light. “Or not towards you, Mercedes Elf-friend. One did say the human government deserved the changes you would bring to it as a Daughter of Coyote.”

I bit my tongue. “That is a point of view. May I ask if any spoke of this problem with the Undead that such a development will entail?”

“You may, and not that I know of. But we shun the Undead, always, for we are of life, and they of death.”

That was true, and it wasn’t likely anything a fae said would come to vamp ears unless they intended it to, but the Aspen Creek pack had clearly not been the only ones indulging in speculation.

“I am glad to hear it, yet I think you should start being even more careful today.” And I would need to be so myself. “Will you ask the oaks for some good sharp splinters, long enough to reach an unbeating heart? Or I can get you wooden daggers that will dismiss the Undead.”

To the fae you couldn’t kill vamps, properly speaking, because they were already dead. Nuthatch frowned, but nodded.

“Confrontation is not our way, Mercedes Elf-friend, but the oaks will be happy to gift us such a defence. None of the fae who were in that place liked the captive Undead, for they saw us only as food they were denied.”

I imagined they had, but the story of those vamps was another thing bothering me. It had been kept out of the transcripts of the torturers’ confessions, but ap Lugh had told Bran the tale, its high points being that Cantrip had not, at least officially, known about vamps until Travers told Preskylovitch, and had wished to control as well as investigate them ; there had originally been five, all loners without a seethe’s protection Travers had come across in his wandering ; and it had been he who’d managed to grab them, one by one, using wolf strength and an SUV fitted with a cage of the same bars with tungsten and ceramic cores as in the mine. Two had been killed by Preskylovitch, one by staking, the other by exposure to sunlight, just to see if those methods worked. And Stefan had told me, letting distaste show, that the three who’d been rescued had been killed, over his and Wulfe’s objections, the Master of the Night insisting for the sheer stupidity of being caught — which didn’t mean their accounts had not been extracted, so I was assuming vamps probably thought of it all as a wolf’s fault. It wasn’t as if either party needed more reasons for mutual dislike, but it was in the mix with the protection Wulfe had promised me for aiding vamps without obligation, and everything else.

“I am glad to hear it, Nuthatch, yet my concerns increase. Not only do the Undead not care whom they harm, they have no love for me and may seek to harm those I care for. Such is often their way, so I will be taking precautions for myself and Jesse, as will Adam. I hope to speak to Gwyn ap Lugh today, so I shall say these things to him. And I ask you all to carry a weapon effective against the Undead, and be prepared to use it. Better their dust than anyone else’s.”

Neither of them liked it, but Nuthatch again nodded.

“We hear you, Mercedes Elf-friend, rejoicing in your care, and will closely heed your warning. I will speak to the oaks also, that they are aware. And do give the Prince our greetings.”

“I will, and that would be good.” What oaks might do on their own I had no idea. “And I hope you will all come to share food on Sunday. Snow peas are ripening nicely.”

Enthusiasm kindled in both their eyes, and with farewells Brent and I headed back to the house.

“You really think vamps would target earth fae, Mercy?”

“Oh yeah. In SF you have Thomas Hao, second-best vamp I know, after Stefan. But here Marsilia’s in charge, and however he cast her off she won’t gainsay the Master of the Night. Nor will anyone persuade me she’s remotely sane. You need reinforcement as of now, and at least one wooden dagger. I have a set Zee made me a few years back, and I’ll be asking him for as many more as he’s willing to make. Standard grip, fire-hardened oak blade with an iron shank, and some magical extras. Religious symbols work if used by a believer, but need physical contact, and holy water’s a washout. Decapitation works, and setting them on fire.”

“So I once saw. Still, you’re not often out after dark.”

“Wulfe, Marsilia, and Stefan can daywalk. I don’t know of others with that ability here, but I’d bet the Master of the Night can. Don’t assume false dawn or twilight protect. I’ve never come across any who could enter a home without being invited, though, so a true threshold does.”

Surprise held him silent, but he was thinking hard, and while I grabbed a shower and dressed I told Adam what Pirandella had said. He bit back a curse and agreed security had to start ramping up without delay.

“Joel’s on shift today, so take him if you head to Walla Walla. Use the Grand Cherokee.” Adam collected SUVs for fun, as far as I could tell, and there were always several available. The Cherokee was an efficient hybrid and had some customisation you could _not_ get from the dealership, so I nodded. I liked driving it anyway. “I’ll do some juggling so I can come with you and the Freed Saturday, and put out a first alert to the pack, so everyone’s on their toes without being freaked. We can revisit the roster after Sunday breakfast. Jesse needs more cover as well.”

“Oh yeah, though school’s out in daylight. But we can give Dan” — he’d been a Marine sergeant and was the senior — “a briefing, Marine Joe one of Zee’s daggers, and Brent another. If Carnwennan doesn’t mind I’ll pack the third. And the Sig, though without wooden slugs it’s of limited use.”

Those were one thing I’d asked about, and he nodded.

“I’m on that, love, and modified IR.” He shook his head. “I know I wanted you thinking, but I’d forgotten how … stimulating it is.”

“Good catch.” I cocked my head. “Have I really not been that badly?”

“A little, but only about this.” Already power-suited, he came and sat beside me on the bed. “You had to be very focused for a long time, with the trials, and that took some … tunnel vision. For me, too. And when it was all done, you shut down a bit, understandably enough.”

“But not so sensibly?” He shrugged, but I knew what he wasn’t saying. “I’ve been pretending it was all over, haven’t I? But it never will be.”

“Not like before, no. Those cats are over the horizon. But looking at this proposal squarely doesn’t mean you have to do it, love, whoever tries pushing you.”

“No. But it’s not who so much as how many. I think I’ve just been trying to grok being famous.” I groped for the thought. “I know I used Caroline’s camera, but that was crisis publicity. Using its aftermath in the ways this would demand seems … I dunno, but different.”

“Because it is. One’s reaction, the other calculated. But it’s just short-term, long-term, Mercy. If Medicine Wolf hadn’t been so spectacular, or you hadn’t been so central, or Wyoming hadn’t been so ghastly, or we hadn’t parlayed it into the Accords, your spotlight might have dimmed more. But it did happen that way, and there’s the ongoing stuff. Tell you straight, love, you’re going to have to do _something_ with it, sooner or later, unless you’re willing to become a recluse, so you might as well aim high.”

“Huh. I might as well paint a target on my forehead. And yours and Jesse’s. But I hear you.” Pulling a Salinger wouldn’t suit me at all, however I found fame irritating, and mingled resignation and excitement was settling in. “I need to understand why Bran is so willing to take on vamps just now. He said holding them down was wasting wolf time, but I’ve not heard of any unusual trouble. If you don’t know, can you ask some quiet Alpha questions so I can tackle Charles?”

“Sure.” He frowned. “I was wondering about that too. Frank Cromer in Atlanta was venting a few months back — some vamp made two newbies and didn’t control them, so his pack had to clean it up. But I haven’t heard of anything else. My own head’s been down, though, tackling backlog.”

With the various trials Adam had been away from his desk a lot, and though staff had not allowed any backlog that failed a client Adam was not a man who filed things unread, so he’d been putting in long hours checking stuff and catching up with clients. What would happen if the madness went ahead I didn’t like to think, but that could wait.

“Thanks. Maybe Fae pressure, then. I’ll ask ap Lugh.” A thought hit me. “Or what about _human_ pressure? Westfield knew full well there’d been _something_ in those cages, and there might have been more than they let on in Cantrip’s files, or MacLandis’s and Hobson’s papers. Plus the Feebs have been working closely with Charles on scent evidence.”

Adam whistled. “Now that’s an idea. And though it’s hardly fair, Bran might at some level think you created the problem, so you should fix it. Which … rings my bell, actually. He was being very opaque.”

“Huh.” It made cockamamy Marrok sense to me too, though I’d have words for Bran if it turned out to be right. “There is not enough peanut butter in the world. Let’s go eat.”

Adam grinned, and once I’d strapped on Carnwennan, retrieved Zee’s daggers, slung the cloak over one arm, and picked up Manannán’s Bane, we headed down. Brent had told Jesse security was going up immediately, but besides being more sharply conscious of daylight and thresholds, for her it was more about her guards. They didn’t live in, sharing a house in Finley, but stopped for breakfast each schoolday, for my cooking and in case there was any last-minute change of schedule. By the time they arrived Brent had printed out sunrise and sunset times for the next quarter, and while we ate Adam went into brisk military mode. When they’d signed on they’d been given a full briefing, including preternatural problems, but the real threat had been and mostly still was unscrupulous journalists, so angry vamps were unexpected.

Dan was a sergeant after Adam’s own heart, solid and softly spoken except when he wasn’t, and he’d carefully, then cheerfully, transferred his loyalty to us and his two privates. Marine Joe was the biggest, but also fastest, and had a thing for throwing knives, while Ranger Joe was more tech-minded and looked after their electronic kit. Between them, with Dan’s thoughtful guidance, they’d done a very good job for Jesse, keeping out of her hair as best they could without letting anything get by them, including an idiot senior who’d been dared to give her a kiss in which she wasn’t in the least interested. Finding himself flat on the ground with a knife at his throat and two guns trained on him had dampened his ardour, and a furious Adam marching into his parents’ house with harsh things to say about men who thought forcing women to do anything was a good idea, as well as some creative venting about the fate of anyone or anything that hassled his daughter, had left him shaking too much to stand. His parents and siblings had been very unhappy with him, and there had been nothing further, though I knew one or two students with ideas about Jesse’s money had been quietly warned off.

I liked Dan’s low-key-when-possible approach and had no wish to change it, but some things need formality and before giving out daggers I put on the cloak and laid Manannán’s Bane on the table next to the box that held them in their sheaths. Zee had given them to me, so I had the right to loan them, but I explained to them what I was doing and why, asking them to allow Brent and Marine Joe to use them in my service, protecting me and Jesse. I also asked Carnwennan if it minded my carrying the third, because as wonderful a witch-killer as it was, wood worked better on vamps. The white hilt warmed in my hand, and I had a distant sense of it not minding in the least but being pleased with courtesy, so I gave it thanks. All three humans were staring, though Marine Joe’s attention was half on the dagger he held, sensing its balance, and Dan quirked an eyebrow.

“Carnwennan answered you, Mercy?”

“It did, Dan. The hilt warmed. The wooden daggers aren’t aware in quite the same way — they’re much younger, for one thing — but they were all made by the same hand. And Excalibur. So, Marine Joe, if you’re holding that one and get a feeling in your water, heed it, hey?”

“Seconded.” Adam grimaced. “The risk is low yet, but that makes it a good time to get blindsided, and it’s likely to rise fast without warning. But vamps are not always headstrong stupid, especially older ones, and can … suborn humans easily. Do _not_ invite any strangers into your house, even by daylight, and Ranger Joe, I’ll have extra surveillance gear for you as soon as I can get it. A direct approach is possible, probably with some tempting bribe, in which case _don’t_ meet anyone’s eyes, tell them about your lapel cams, remote storage, and panic buttons, and refer whoever it is to me. And while I don’t want to worry anyone unduly, if there’s any kind of blackmail attempt, probably a threat to kin or friends, let me know immediately and fort-up. A _lot_ of resources would be available to protect whoever we must, and drop all hell on the offender’s head.”

Dan’s face had become very still, but he nodded sharply. “I hear you, Adam. Sounds like DefCon Two, not One.”

“Pretty much, but I’m trying to anticipate possibles, not probables. Under normal circumstances vamps wouldn’t target Jesse, because they know what will happen if they do, but they’re probably about to come under very heavy pressure to out themselves, which they do _not_ want to do, and there are old ones who are not what I’d call rational.”

“Un huh. Do we need to know what pressure, and why?”

“Mercy?”

I thought about it and shrugged. It was time to try things out. “It’s because I’m coming under heavy pressure myself, Dan, from more than one source, to run for president. And if I do, I could not go on keeping shtum about the way almost all vamps treat sheep, nor the number of human victims they rack up. But outing them is not going to make me _Vamp Time_ ’s Person of the Year.”

There was a silence before Marine Joe gave an unexpected nod. “Figures. The fae who made Excalibur really made this beauty, Mercy?”

I was both heartened and appalled by his reaction to the conjunction of me / presidency. “Yup. The Dark Smith of Drondheim.”

“Huh. I’ve never held a better blade, Sarge, by a distance. Balance, heft, everything. The oak’s got a razor edge and a hell of a point. It’s magic.” He grinned. “And I don’t know about anyone else but I’ve been watching those Beltway clowns spouting, and thinking it’s gonna be another election without anyone I can honestly say I respect enough to vote for, but if you’re standing, Mercy, it’s a no-brainer. God knows I can see why you’d run the other way screaming, but I really hope you do.”

There was a rather different silence while Adam tried not to laugh at my expression and Jesse didn’t bother.

“Go on telling her, please, Marine Joe. And guys, we’ll need to talk to Ms Zeeman. She wants me in the musical, and rehearsals will run after sunset for a while yet. Dad, they can’t be anywhere except the school theatre. Do I have to tell her I can’t?”

Adam and I both thought about it, and shook our heads.

“You do what you want to, Jesse, but you’re right serious security is required. I’ll see what’s possible.”

“Seconded, ex-kiddo, and one thing is it might be possible to make the theatre a home of the company, but I’ll need to take advice and _very_ strict discipline would be needed. A single _sure, come along_ would break it.”

“Cool. Can I give her some outline, and see what she’s good with?”

Adam shrugged first. “Very minimal outline, Jesse, and no privately outing vamps. Raised threat level, unspecified, but even that will mean Ms Zeeman will have to clear it with Stallings, who might think it’s a parental call — which would be more publicity than we want yet. You could also tell her things should become clearer, one way or another, within a few weeks, so if she can hold fire that long it’d be appreciated.”

Jesse’s expression was priceless, but I gave a sympathetic smile.

“Gotta follow the logic, ex-kiddo. But if you nail the audition, we’ll do everything we can to make it work. What’s the part?”

“Lieutenant Cable in _South Pacific_ , with Liat as a boy.”

Adam never swore in front of Jesse, but I think he came close, if only because Cable dies. But Helen Zeeman was an anti-bigot, and that was a production of _South Pacific_ we’d want to see, even if Jesse romancing anyone on stage would give Adam hives. He spoke carefully.

“That will be interesting. Jesse, while I’m really not expecting anything to happen this soon, and don’t want to give you any more problems, please be very wary. You know vamps can suborn, and using a classmate to get to you is about vamp speed. There’s no easy way to spot a Renfield, unless the bite’s visible, but they’re oddly insistent on whatever they’ve been made to want, so if anyone’s proposing anything unusual …”

“Un huh.” Jesse nodded, face sober. “I remember. You take care as well, Dad. And Mom. But I still think this is worth any hassle.”

Once they’d headed out, in another hybrid SUV Adam had provided that had less usual modifications, he gave me a kiss and went to do wolf business before leaving for work. I was pretty sure ap Lugh would be awake, whatever timezone he was in, and I wouldn’t have minded waking him if he wasn’t, but I needed to set my own mind in order. Brent drank coffee and watched with interest as I made a chart, Motives and Requests across the top, and Gray Lords, Other Fae, Marrok, Other Wolves, Elder Spirits, and Humans down the side — the last subdivided into The Man, Feebs, Family & Friends, and Public. I started filling it in.

“You distinguish ‘the Marrok’ from ‘Bran’, Mercy?”

“In this. Bran is never not Marrok, but sometimes I’m only arguing with my adoptive father. I have no reason to obey personal orders from him but try to keep out of wolf politics, where I have no right to gainsay him. Last year left that pretty blurry, though, and this is more of the same.”

“Huh. That I see.” I went on adding things to various boxes. “You have a lot of fathers. I always found one quite sufficient.”

“Tell me. Not-entirely, not-exactly, and not any more, but still. And Curt, in his sweet way, but I didn’t get to know him until I was sixteen, so he’s more Mom’s lover and my sisters’ father.”

We talked families, but Brent was thinking about what I was writing down, and several things produced questions. My thought about human pressure on Bran needed explanation, but then made sense to him, as it had to Adam, and my plans for the public whose retweets and likes were driving all this won me an admiring look. I was nearly done when Joel joined us, saying Adam had told him there’d been a change of plans. I made fresh coffee, replenished Brent’s mug, and awarded myself chocolate before giving a brisk run-down of events since the Man’s suggestion, and what was being done about them.

“It means you’ll be in demand, I’m afraid, Joel. When it comes to being vampire-proof your tibicena is right up there, and they _really_ don’t like the magmatic aspect.”

“No. I remember that from Wyoming.” Joel drank, swirling coffee in his mouth before swallowing. “But they cannot attack by daylight, surely?”

“Most can’t. Wulfe could. Some others. And assuming we go today, which I shall find out, just, I doubt we’ll get back from Walla Walla before sunset.”

“OK. And though I can see you are not happy about it, Mercy, I must say I find this a very welcome idea. So will Lucia, and others we know. Adam is an excellent Alpha, but so are you, and if I have not heard of a presidential bid, many have been wondering what you might do next.”

“ _Et tu, Brute?_ ”

“I’m afraid so.” He grinned. “You took charge for a week, and got more done than anyone had managed in decades. Four years of it is quite a thought.”

I flapped a hand, making him grin some more, and took myself to Adam’s study to make calls. Friends came before authorities, so I spoke to a worried Zee first, who had also heard pointed fae speculation, and did some cursing in old German, but was happy to make wooden daggers. Whether ap Lugh was under any particular pressure about vamps he didn’t know, or wouldn’t say, but did clarify fae loathing of the Undead.

<It is not just life and death, Mercy, though Pirandella is not wrong. Even we iron kissed are of the light, rejoicing in the sun, and nothing to which it is fatal can be good. Those of the Sluagh do not welcome sunlight, but it does not harm them. What we loathe is the sterility of the Undead, the perversion of non-life that must batten on life, drawing strength and pleasure from others’ weakness and suffering. There are those who have wanted to move against them ere now, but caution has always prevailed.>

“I get all that, Zee, and though I’m conflicted about Stefan, I don’t disagree. Do witch or wizard vamps help induce that caution?”

<Ja, very much. They are few, but potent, as Wulfe the Sorcerer is.>

“Tell me. When ap Lugh was in Aspen Creek, after the night of Wyoming, he went out of his way to tell Bran that Wulfe had named himself as the eldest of that kind, and they spoke of one he called She of Livorno. Is it possible her supposed, or confirmed, dismissal would make ap Lugh consider an opportunity?”

Zee’s distaste was audible. <I heard about that, and I believe the dismissal was confirmed, but I do not know how. I never had dealings, but the tales were not good at all. So maybe.>

“Right. Though I also wondered if _Wulfe_ might see some opportunity in becoming eldest. And you know, Zee, I’m having a hard time thinking no vamp has caught on that something is moving both Marrok and Gray Lords to their peril.”

He didn’t disagree but wouldn’t say more, so I left greetings for Tad and called an equally cautious Ariana, Jim Alvin, about Saturday, and Medicine Wolf. Fifteen-foot dire wolves not being well equipped to use cell phones, the process owed as much to magic as technology, but after a little experimentation with bemused permission from the wary director of Sacajawea State Park, we’d found it could answer a phone left in a wooden box on the knoll at the naith, which we’d connected to a solar charger. It listened with growing interest, had its own Brutus moment by telling me my having greater authority among humans was a very sensible idea, raised no objection to plans I was wondering about, and promised to increase its own vigilance, cautioning me that although it did sense the Undead it was only their basic magic that registered, dead minds being opaque. Then I had no excuses left not to call Gwyn ap Lugh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The drive to Walla Walla was irritating at first, because we had to jostle heavy traffic on the 10th Avenue bridge before we could turn onto East Lewis and pick up US12 at the city limit, heading south-west. Then it was a pleasant enough run, over the Snake and down the eastern bank of the Columbia from Two Rivers, barely two miles from the house if you could fly, to Wallula Junction. Brent rode shotgun, and Joel and I talked dogs — whether his desire to get back to breeding them would cause any wolf problems, which it shouldn’t, and what the effects of being able to go Presa Canario on them might be. It had to be an advantage, especially if he shifted to breeding Presa Canarios, and they were, as we’d discovered with the publicity Guayota generated, very saleable guard animals, though the conditions Joel would want buyers to observe were interesting. The Cherokee was a smooth ride, and irrigation circles kept the view green, but once US12 struck east for Walla Walla, the rain shadow reasserted itself in sage-and-thorn scrubland. I was used to the landscape, which plenty of coyotes enjoyed, but there were things to dislike as well.

Saying the fae reservation was at Walla Walla had always been euphemistic. The town, unsurprisingly, had loudly objected to hosting what amounted to a large concentration camp full of magical things that eat children, and flatter, irrigated land was too valuable to sacrifice, so a grid of prefab ranch houses had been built in a valley north of Dixie Crossing. Leaving US12 at Lowden I was struck as always by the deep contempt in that decision, echoed by the unmarked country road that slid between treeless hills to the gate, and the bare concrete boundary wall with its razor-wire topping. Since the Medicine Wolf Accords the Fae Reservation Service, whose personnel found themselves magically removed by some miles when ap Lugh declared independence, had been wound up, embassies providing their own security. And, we discovered, the wall had been glamoured into a dense, very thorny hedge, which was an improvement, but still. The enormous, mediaeval-looking wooden gate in a stone tower — a barbican, I thought, ransacking memories from my degree — that had replaced the guard-hut and pole was also glamour, and besides being magnificent with ornate carving it was thoroughly shut. I thought about hooting, but we hopped out, and I was collecting the cloak from the back seat when one gate-leaf opened and a suspicious troll wearing a studded jerkin and humongous blue jeans stepped through.

“Trespassers will be squashed and eaten, so — oh.”

She — I’d yet to meet a male troll — had seen the cloak as I swung it over my shoulders, feeling its power swelling with nearness to source and receiving a happy gust of roses.

“Greetings, troll on guard. I am Mercedes Hauptman, Daughter of Coyote, Elf-friend, and those with me are Brent Lanning, who guards me, and Joel Arocha of the Columbia Basin Pack. Prince Gwyn ap Lugh is expecting us. Might you gladden us with the gift of your name?”

The scowl faded as one very large eyebrow rose. “I am Vorðr, Mercedes Elf-friend, and you are welcome here, with your companions.” She peered down. “You bear Carnwennan?”

“I do, Vorðr, and Manannán’s Bane. Besides human weapons, Brent bears a dagger made by the Dark Smith. Joel needs no weapon.”

The other eyebrow rose to join its partner. “Huh. He’s the one can go magmatic?”

“He is.”

“Right. Hard to argue with, even at my size. Is Skuffles with you?”

“Always, Vorðr.”

I barely had to ask before Skuffles materialised beside me in all its usual ruff-do finery, looking up at Vorðr, who bent to offer a large hand it sniffed with a wagging tail.

“You are welcome also, Skuffles. Good job with that lawyer.” Skuffles gave a coyote grin and she gave a troll one back before straightening. “Irpa was right about more than one thing, then. And though the Prince didn’t tell me you were expected today, I should have guessed from the glamour he’s been playing with. Go on in. You can’t miss it.”

It was the turn of my eyebrows, not just at further evidence of troll humour. Nasty suspicions coiled in my head, but manners still maketh woman, as well as man, and trolls could be pretty useful if so minded.

“I am glad to hear it, Vorðr. Are there any rules about parking? When I’ve come before the Dark Smith was driving or Gwyn ap Lugh met me.”

I got a troll grin of my own.

“Just don’t block anyone’s car, but I think you’ll find it’s taken care of. And we’re all interested in the outcome of your meeting with the Prince.”

I sighed. “So I gathered from Pirandella. But there are … complications, Vorðr.”

“Any number, Mercedes Elf-friend, but it sounds like fun all the same.”

She pushed open the other gate-leaf while I discovered Skuffles thought riding in back with Joel was a fine idea, despite the squash, so I put the cloak and Manannán’s Bane in the cargo compartment. It was a bit cold to open the sunroof, but doing so allowed Skuffles to stick its head out, and I was beginning to think showing some style and what power I could was no bad thing — a thought that deepened as we cleared the barbican and entered the grid of streets. The rows of ranch houses were still there, and the striking absence of people I remembered, though the sense of being watched was immediate and strong. But the glamour that had kept houses looking new had been allowed to drop, revealing considerable dilapidation in human work — not surprisingly, after nearly forty years with what looked like no maintenance at all — and assorted additions, from front-yard marshes and stands of black alder to turrets, cupolas, and in more than one case crenelated battlements. The air temperature was markedly higher than outside, and Skuffles was sniffing deeply. Neither Brent nor Joel had ever been here so both were fascinated, but all of us had an eye on the main attraction, because at the far end of the street we were on, where if I recalled right there was actually a larger building meant to serve as the town hall, stood a full-size replica of the Executive Residence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

I knew from SAC Fisher that nothing inside the wall — or hedge — showed on aerial or satellite photographs, just featureless blur, so the glamour was aimed at me and perhaps other fae, not humans. But it was an almighty cap to the wilful speculation Pirandella had reported, and for ap Lugh seemed unusually blunt until I started thinking through the levels of challenge it offered. Accepting any Fae invitation to enter any White House was out, but looming there it was a further tease or rebuff about my well-meant opinion that humour wasn’t most fae’s strongest suit, and simultaneously an acknowledgement that the whole notion of a coyote-girl as POTUS was an oversize joke that needed to be taken seriously. Retreating from involvement with the Gray Lords wasn’t going to happen whatever I wanted, and though I doubted it was necessary I told Brent and Joel _not_ to say anything beyond basic courtesies unless asked.

“How big a problem is there, Mercy?”

“Plenty big, Brent, but there’s no threat. Or not one needing your skills. But it’s more possible than I’d thought that there are traps, so I’m going to do more pushing back than I’d intended before I saw that monstrosity.”

He took that under advisement, and as the parking problem had indeed been taken care of I swung into a semi-circular drive, and pulled up in the porte-cochere formed by the north portico. No-one was visible as we got out, Skuffles looking around with interest while I reclaimed cloak and Manannán’s Bane, adding Thunderbird’s feather, but as soon as I had them on — a timing I noted with relief — ap Lugh came out.

“Mercedes Elf-friend, be welcome Underhill.”

“Prince Gwyn ap Lugh. Are we Underhill already, then? Nice digs.”

He gave an austere smile, though his eyes were warm. “So we thought. And all of the reservation is now … borderland, shall I say?”

Priorities tumbled in my head, with ap Lugh’s surprising informality. “That is helpful, Gwyn ap Lugh. I believe some speech with Underhill may be necessary, if she is willing. You know Brent Lanning, Joel Arocha of the Columbia Basin Pack, and Skuffles.”

He gave me a sharp glance about talking to Underhill but nodded.

“I do. Be welcome Underhill, Brent Lanning and Joel Arocha. And Skuffles. Be assured none here today wish to harm Mercedes Elf-friend.”

They murmured gladness while Skuffles gave him an old-fashioned look we’d been practicing, and he quirked an eyebrow.

“Will you come in?”

“I would rather remain under the sky, Gwyn ap Lugh, if you don’t mind.”

“Not in the least, Mercedes, and Underhill prefers to do so also.”

“Unsurprisingly. Dare I suppose there is the Rose Garden?”

“Certainly. We would not neglect such a detail.” He shepherded us along the façade. “Though as you see we have omitted most security features, there being no need here. I hope Adam Hauptman and Jesse Hauptman are well.”

That was pushing it, and I swallowed annoyance, wondering why he wanted me off-balance and whether I should try to return the favour —not so easy with Gray Lords.

“They are, though we have found it oddly necessary sharply to increase security, which will impact Jesse’s schooling. And that does not make either of us glad.”

“I would imagine not.”

We turned the corner, and I saw the glamour extended to the formal gardens, with roses in all the colours I’d ever seen Underhill. Skuffles’s tail thumped my leg.

“Nuthatch and Pirandella asked me to convey to you their greetings.”

“Do return mine. All is well with the earth fae?”

“It is, though they are also less than glad to be asked to carry at all times oak splinters sufficient to dismiss the Undead.”

An eyebrow quirked again. “That seems … a stringent precaution.”

“With the Undead, Gwyn ap Lugh, stringent is good, always.” We came into the Rose Garden proper, where a circle of wooden chairs, one enormous, held Gray Lords who rose — Nemane, Baba Yaga, Edythe, yo-yo twirling as ever, and The Dagda — and there were chairs for us, those for Brent and Joel behind mine. “But that is a matter of substance.”

“Indeed.”

Joel had met all of them when we were negotiating the Medicine Wolf Accords, but Brent hadn’t, nor Skuffles, so I did formal introductions. Brent got nods, but Skuffles intrigued them and The Dagda squatted, reducing himself from somewhere over twelve feet to six or seven, and extended a hand. Skuffles didn’t look at me, but I felt its query and allowed it, so it trotted over, giving The Dagda a good sniff and accepting a scratch. Very deepset eyes looked at me above a beard I still thought over the top, even for fae — you could have done topiary on it, or provided nests for a murder of carrion crows, but that wasn’t a thought to pursue.

“This being Skuffles is most unusual, Mercedes Elf-friend. Many magics are melded here.”

“That is so, The Dagda.” It still sounded absurd but no-one had offered any alternative, and offending anyone who’d ever been willing to marry Nemane and the rest of the Morrígan was very low on my agenda. “Most come from me, and that which I have gained or been gifted, but Coyote, the Dark Smith, Ariana, and Irpa also aided Skuffles to become as it is.”

“So I sense, Mercedes Elf-friend. Bran Cornick also, I deem. And you have granted it much freedom.”

“I have, The Dagda. Coyotes do not take well to orders, as the Marrok can affirm.” I took a breath. “Which is one thing I wanted to discuss.”

He gave a slow nod and they all sat again. Nemane looked beadier-eyed than ever, Edythe’s yo-yo actually went into her pocket, Skuffles trotted back and lay beside me, and we were underway.

“It seems you all wish to make a point, and I have heard you. Nor do I necessarily wish to disappoint you, or refuse any honest request you might make. But there are in this costs that more than I may be called on to pay, and as that involves my kin by blood and marriage I have some grave concerns.” I turned, taking another breath. “Gwyn ap Lugh, without countenancing the least discourtesy or incurring any obligation, I ask your leave as Prince of the Gray Lords for this meeting to be one of clear and plain speaking, on all sides, for if what you seem to be telling me you desire is to come to pass it may be some _very_ carefully worded and reciprocal oaths will be necessary. And they would have to be sworn in full understanding of their spirit as well as letter — though perhaps we might manage with only that understanding. I will take my chances, as any coyote must, but Jesse is another matter, as you understand full well.”

His expression was austere, but not hostile. “I do, Mercedes, and while we must seek our own advantage we are willing all should understand clearly what may or may not be promised. Speak then, in all courtesy, without fear or favour.”

“Very well, Gwyn ap Lugh, once and again Prince of the Gray Lords and Master Underhill.” He noted the fuller title with what seemed a flash of approval, and while I wasn’t going to remove the cloak for love nor money, the heat was enough I did ask it to flip itself back and laid Manannán’s Bane across my knees. “Let me begin by saying I learn many beings apparently desire me to run for the presidency of the United States, and while there are very few things I less desire I am not wholly unwilling to do so. However, should I do so, and voters be sufficiently … intrepid to elect me, I will be subject to none, and will take my primary responsibility to the citizens of the United States, whatever their kind, as an absolute obligation of the oath I would swear. The Medicine Wolf Accords provide reciprocal obligations between the Office of the President and the Fae, and any ally may request consideration of anything, if necessary as a matter of urgency. But should an Elf-friend hold that office, it would grant the Fae no privilege beyond an assured welcome and all courtesy in listening to any request.”

Ap Lugh waved a hand while no-one else moved a muscle.

“Certainly, Mercedes. We did not declare and defend independence to become more involved in human affairs than necessary, and setting aside possible further co-operation, the only general matters of concern are treatment of fae and half-fae living Overhill, human propensity to pollute, and co-operative work on the Columbia Restoration, in all of which you and we are already in agreement. I will offer my own plain speaking by saying that one basic calculation we make is that if the incumbent’s successor can be relied on to honour the Medicine Wolf Accords they will become more satisfactorily … entrenched in human practice. Ecological policies would also be so. We yet have concerns about that successor’s successor, but one term at least for one we know of honour would be deeply welcome.”

I thought about that, and nodded. “That I can accept, Gwyn ap Lugh, and surely there is nothing in the Medicine Wolf Accords their … broker does not support. Yet I would broach a matter I have carefully avoided ere now.”

He stiffened, but nodded. “Broach it, then.”

“On that night in Wyoming, you told me that it was becoming harder to deny that I was owed a debt by the Fae, and yet I did deny it.”

“Truth. I did so, and you did so.”

“You also told me, in the Garden of Manannán’s Death during the trial of Senator Heuter, that my denial of debt … encouraged an assumption among fae that I could be asked to do things without those asking … considering the consequences. And I am told you have more recently said as much again, to Bran Cornick, knowing he would relay it.”

“Truth also.”

“And so you place me in what humans call a Catch-22. All know debts between fae and humans are dangerous, for those owed as for those who owe. Yet you turn my proper and courteous refusal to acknowledge debt — and it is proper, Gwyn ap Lugh, and all Gray Lords, for I sought and seek the good of all, not only the good of fae — into a liability. It does not seem to honour my good will towards fae.” I held up a hand as ap Lugh stiffened a little. “And you once declared that by your word and command no fae should seek to harm me or mine, Underhill or Overhill, yet words spoken by fae to be overheard were this morning a cause for Adam and me to place Jesse’s guards on higher alert, and arm one with a wooden blade of the Dark Smith’s making.” Ap Lugh had stiffened a lot, but my hand was still raised. “And as I do not believe you would so act without compelling reason, Gwyn ap Lugh, my first question is what if any pressure humans or Bran Cornick are exerting on you in this matter?”

There was silence while ap Lugh met others’ eyes, Skuffles looking round at them all, before he sat back, steepling fingers.

“However I bridle, that is fairly asked, Mercedes Elf-friend. I told Bran Cornick you would see, and you are correct he and we are under considerable human pressure to which we will have to respond. Grant Westfield and others with power know at least one kind of preternatural remains hidden, and many guess rightly it is the Undead and that they have human victims. The federal authorities broadly respect our secrets and those of wolves, Elder Spirits, and Medicine Wolf, but the Undead are a reasonable concern for them, and as we continue to conceal them they become either our responsibility or our liability.”

“That I see, Gwyn ap Lugh, yet while it applies only to the Undead in the United States, to expose them here is to expose them everywhere.”

“Truth.” He shrugged delicately. “What of it?”

“Much, but not just yet. Are you or any fae under any other _external_ pressure that my putative campaign or election would somehow answer?”

“I am not, Mercedes, nor to my knowledge is any fae.”

“Good. And have you discussed it with any being who is not fae other than the Marrok? The President?”

“We have not, save only other wolves with the Marrok when we spoke, though the President has expressed admiration for you in our hearing, and wondered if you might run for his office.”

“I am glad to hear of your silence in this, Gwyn ap Lugh, if less so of the President’s words, and understand what you have said about a quality desired in his successor, and the human pressures involved. But is there then anything else you or any will tell me about why you collectively desire this, and who if any among you dissents from the expressions of that desire you would seem already to have made?”

Nemane scowled at me, or everyone. “I think it a greater risk than others, but irritating and impetuous as you often are, Daughter of Coyote, I will not deny that under considerable pressure you sought to do well by us, as by others, not unsuccessfully. I no longer repine not killing you the first time you were here, which surprises me. And you are undeniably a more interesting candidate than any probable human.”

Baba Yaga and The Dagda nodded, and Edythe smiled.

“I so wish you I could tell you I had foreseen your victory, Mercedes, if only for the look on your face, but I am not attuned to elections. But I can say that destiny yet wraps you as warmly as that cloak. You’re going to do _something_ more, sooner or later, so you might say that we would profit as we can from that destiny, and this would be an interesting way to do so, for you as for us.”

“There is but one living Elf-friend, Mercedes, and the greater her influence on the humans of the United States, the better for us.” The Dagda’s voice was a rumble that was somehow sincere, though I doubted he was as straightforward as he could seem. “I was unsure how much true benefit co-operation with humans could bring, but it has already achieved more than I thought possible, and much is your doing.”

“We actually quite like you, you know.” Baba Yaga grinned. “Even if Nemane doesn’t care to show it. More to the point, Underhill likes you, because with us you cleave to the old ways, while yet making much that is new. Your balance is … skilled. And we are a fractious people, in our natures and ages, having long trembled on more than one brink, though we wax again on the Path of Mercy. Does this idea do more than follow the windings of that path?”

“Perhaps not, Baba Yaga.” I’d asked for plain speaking, and was getting some, so I shifted tack. “Tell me, then, if you will, were you able to confirm that She of Livorno was dismissed?”

“Ah.”

Ap Lugh considered me until Baba Yaga said something in what might have been old Russian that sounded impatient, and looked at me.

“We were, Mercedes Elf-friend. Know without obligation that She of Livorno was the only half-fae who has ever become Undead, and in her elemental perversion a most malignant power of old. Our last encounter left many hurt, including that one, and many more dead, fae, human, and hitherto Undead. Since we crossed the water there had been no further news, save that the Master of the Night kept one watching in Livorno, before those words of Wulfe the Sorcerer, spoken to you where two of us would hear.” I nodded, because I’d worked that one out, eventually. “Prompted by them, we and the Marrok found an Undead in Tuscany who knew with certainty of her dismissal by stake, decapitation, and fire, all three, while injuries weakened her. We believe it was Wulfe the Sorcerer’s doing, while the Master of the Night was yet bound to him, though it may also have been when he lost that control. And we have long known him as the next eldest wizard among them, though he is yet many centuries younger than she was when dismissed.”

I didn’t ask for dates, though I was tempted. “And did you also come to any certainty as to why Wulfe dropped so heavy a hint?”

“We did not, though possibilities are evident, and would be glad to know your thoughts on that matter.”

I shrugged. “Who can say they understand such a creature? Even his own kind find him unpredictable. But I am told he has of late sought to improve his treatment of sheep, so what concerns me is that, knowing full well the Undead must come out, which as their ranks and habits now stand will be a disaster for them, he is angling for us all to undertake his housekeeping for him.”

They were listening intently, and ap Lugh nodded.

“Indeed. We wondered if the Undead who confirmed the dismissal had been made available to find. It was convenient. Yet the confirmation was strong, and if we are invited to deal with a problem, why should we not take full advantage?”

“Because mass murder is wrong?”

“Murder? Yet they are already dead, and should be more so.”

“True, and nevertheless, Gwyn ap Lugh. If — _if_ — I were to run for the presidency, I would be doing so on the back of Cantrip’s mass murders of fae, half-fae, wolves, and humans, and their utter repudiation, so I will countenance no others, even of the Undead. But that does not mean I will tolerate attacks, so the task we face is the reform of the Undead, no doubt in part by a thinning of their ranks, but as a means, not an end.”

I wondered sometimes if the fae ever regretted their hide- and oathbound formality, and more than ap Lugh looked as if they’d like to tell me _nice work if you can get it_ , but in the end he only gave another austere smile, though there was calculation in his gaze.

“And how do you suppose that might be … effected, Mercedes?”

“Carrots and sticks.” I took a deep breath. “I told Bran Cornick it would have to be the Master of the Night who is put on notice. I don’t know about the East Coast, but as the Columbia Basin Pack and I have already done some rank-thinning around here, the most powerful Undead I know of in the west are Marsilia, Stefan, Wulfe, and Thomas Hao, and none will gainsay their highest Master, however they disagree with him. And while I’ve never met him, nor wish to, I do not suppose he is particularly good at bowing to pressure, so it must be as great as possible.”

“You want a joint declaration, abandoning surprise?”

“What surprise, Gwyn ap Lugh? I will not assume the Undead to be ignorant of anything so directly concerning them.”

“There is that. But even if Bran Cornick and we together were to —”

He broke off as I held up a finger.

“Not only the Gray Lords and Marrok, Gwyn ap Lugh, with all fae and wolves, but both with Medicine Wolf, if it will, Elder Spirits, ever stern foes to the Undead, avatars … and humans — the President, and those who are pressuring you and the Marrok in this.”

There was more silence until The Dagda gave a low whistle, sitting forward like a tree swaying.

“That would be an interesting meeting, Mercedes Elf-friend. What is it you suppose humans could offer?”

“Manpower, The Dagda, literally — sheer numbers. And international communication at the highest level. If the Undead would not comply, they would face all acting together, in rational concert, throughout the US and, assuming human co-operation, elsewhere. The preternatural can find seethes and ward against the magic of the Undead, as humans cannot, but human hands can wield stakes well enough. Or perhaps fire wooden bullets, though I’m still investigating that possibility.” A thought crackled. “It is shaping sufficiently hard wood that is the problem with making them in large numbers, but perhaps if humans provided guns and cartridges, others might assist with loads. In any case, telling human authorities much if not all that we each know would provide both motivation and targeting intelligence, and … limit any ideas of liability.”

“So it would.” Large fingers combed a larger beard. “And many fae work swiftly in wood. But with what would this rational concert be demanding the Undead comply?”

“That is a question indeed, but the simple answer must be a code of conduct governing feeding on, predation on, and Turning of humans.” Nemane looked scornful, Edythe politely sceptical, but I ploughed on. “Yes, they must feed, but need neither abuse nor kill as most do, nor to Turn any without informed consent. Stefan Uccello the Warrior shows it possible, and Wulfe the Sorcerer seems to believe it so also. No other preternatural bears any responsibility for the deaths they cause, one way or another, save in our silence, but we will no longer need to be silent, and must not be. Those Undead who would not learn moderation would have to flee, or be dismissed.”

The Dagda was thinking about it, at least. “Humans would need considerable help to enforce their laws against the Undead.”

“They would. Wolves could do what they might, and in North America that would be much. Avatars could help, and though their numbers are small that would be of value. Would the Fae also do what they might?”

There was more silence and intense gazing, until Nemane scowled.

“Coyote hopes! The Undead neither can nor will change their nature. We would do better to dismiss them all as swiftly as we can.”

“Says the Carrion Crow.” Ap Lugh’s voice held a note of rebuke. “We wished for a different answer and are offered one, however improbable. There will be dust enough for you, Nemane, either way.” He turned to me. “Mercedes, what was it you thought should be discussed with Underhill?”

“Some logical possibilities, Gwyn ap Lugh, to see if they are workable. However he may be told otherwise, the Master of the Night will see killing me as a valid answer to any ultimatum, and be willing to target mine — Adam, Jesse, the pack, and more. So we will need all the protection we can manage, and one question is whether I may at need bring humans Underhill in and for their safety.” He nodded, looking thoughtful. “Another is what protection the fae may offer us without obligation being incurred. Adam and I are glad of the spells set around the house, yet valuable as they are they will but obstruct and warn. I could not campaign from within them, nor any of us accept such confinement. And Underhill possesses two things that might be of the greatest use in facing the fearful rage of the Undead. Tell me, if you will, does the sunlight of Underhill act on them as sunlight Overhill?”

Ap Lugh frowned. “It did once, Mercedes, but no Undead has been exposed to it since we reclaimed Underhill, and they know better than to seek to enter here. Yet it cannot shine Overhill.”

“Can it not, Gwyn ap Lugh? If a group of Undead had with hostile intent assembled under the moon, near Adam’s and my house, would it not be possible for such a circle as I saw during your rade to open above them letting Underhill’s sunlight through?”

This silence was deeply thoughtful, and ap Lugh spread his hands.

“That is a very interesting idea, Mercedes, and I will discuss it with Underhill as soon as we are done here. But you said two things?”

“I did. One of the most dangerous weapons of the Undead is speed. Some preternaturals can match them but no human, and in any campaign I would have human as well as other guards. But I also have the cloak, and Underhill a control of time to negate any assailants’ speed.”

“Another interesting idea, for your cloak is unusual, in its range and strength of powers, and such a thing might be within its capacity to learn.”

“So I hoped, yet Jesse would remain more vulnerable than I can approve, even with the three human bodyguards she always has outside our house. We could add wolves, but she cannot always walk within a guardian host, and if the things we speak of come to pass even the Marrok’s resources will be stretched.”

“That we understand, and it is not impossible those might be found who could be of aid.” Ap Lugh cocked his head. “Supposing these various things, that serve to coerce the Undead to reform and to protect you and yours, were indeed to come to pass, where would that leave the question of debt between you and the Fae?”

“In balance always, Gwyn ap Lugh, without the least obligation on either side, for as you may deem yourselves safe from incurring debts to me, while yet asking me to undertake things at least as much in your interests as in my own, so I may deem myself safe from incurring debts to you in doing likewise.” Frowns appeared but they could like it or lump it. “Given the probability of attack, it may be the Accord between wolves and Fae covers it. But if I run, I will do so because I believe it best for those to whom I am bound by blood or love, and as I will be gladdened by any benefit that may accrue thereby to the Fae, so I will be happy to maximise that benefit as I can and may. And as you were gladdened by any such benefit, so you would be full willing I and mine should benefit from any actions you individually or collectively undertake. I understand that in your natures you might prefer this all be oathsworn, and I do not say that is not possible, but one consideration is the oath of the office you desire I take, and what it precludes. So I say also that you have named me Elf-friend, and whatever Fae or avatars may or may not in their natures do, friends do not weigh every scruple of their dealings to seek leverage or indebtedness. Loans may be made and returned, but interest is not charged. And favours harming none may be freely exchanged, in goodwill.” I took a breath. “You spoke of wanting one with honour to hold office, so you must trust to that honour. Or as I am _Elvellon_ you must be _Edainellyn_.”

Neither Nemane nor The Dagda got it, but Edythe raised eyebrows smartly, Baba Yaga barked a laugh, and ap Lugh gave me a genuine smile as he shook his head.

“Our presumptions are well repaid, Daughter of Coyote. To be named friends to men in any language is humbling indeed, let alone good Sindarin. But that _is_ the path we seek to walk, and however we might prefer oaths and stricter reckonings, with the death of Manannán mac Lír in the scale I do not think we would be gladdened by any true balance that we might determine.” He looked around, meeting eyes. “We will speak together of this, with Underhill also, and to you again, Mercedes, on Saturday evening by Overhill time, perhaps?”

“Sunday would be better, Gwyn ap Lugh, and by daylight. There are others I must consult, and on Saturday Adam and I are taking the Freed to see their new hunting tract. It abuts the Yakama Reservation.”

He nodded. “Sunday, then, but no later. And if all parties do agree, haste would be wise. Any … confrontation with the Undead will serve all better when it is won than in the waiting.”

That was true, and I nodded. “Surely, Gwyn ap Lugh, but waiting should not be idle. Assuming we are indeed proposing to do what Wulfe the Sorcerer wants, it is unlikely _he_ intends to be dismissed. What plans might he have, or heavy hints ready to drop? I told you all that Adam and I are raising security at once, and more must follow without delay. Nor was I anything but earnest in asking the earth fae on our land to carry oak splinters always. Will you warn the vulnerable?”

“That we can do, Mercedes, though those who choose to dwell Overhill do so at their own risk, as they know.”

“Even so, Gwyn ap Lugh, for they dwell in lands that are my responsibility, or you wish to become so.”

“We hear you, Mercedes Elf-friend. And though caution perhaps offers other counsel, I will say that I, like others here, regret our need to … oblige your attention to this matter.”

I thought about it, subtracting my surprise, and gave a mental shrug. “So noted, Gwyn ap Lugh, and I will say in turn that while I continue to find the notion … risible, I concede that more fae than I had realised have fine senses of humour.”

That got a warmer smile.

“You put us on our mettle. But if you and your companions make your farewells, I will walk you back to your automobile.”

We made them, and as we returned along the side of the Executive Residence Skuffles gave a pleased woof and bounded ahead, rounding the corner. A glance at ap Lugh showed a flash of resignation, and I wasn’t surprised when I rounded the corner myself to see a smiling Underhill giving Skuffles a jaw-scratch. She looked up as I approached.

“Greetings, Mercedes Elf-friend. Skuffles becomes ever more interesting.”

“Greetings, Underhill, and it does, doesn’t it? Joel Arocha and Brent Lanning you know.”

“I do.” They got brief nods. “I listened to your conference, Mercedes, and you again please me, in thoughts as in manners. To shine Overhill at night is complex, but I cannot see why it should not be possible, and will speak of it with Gwyn ap Lugh. The cloak I can augment now.”

It seemed there was after all something neither love nor money that would induce me to take the cloak off, and I did, immediately feeling the surrounding weight of fae magic from which it insulated me — but a good part of that was coming from Underhill herself, who sat cross-legged and set the happily rustling cloak across her knees, resting hands on it. Very old and strange magic thrummed and flowed, and she looked up while Skuffles bellied forwards to rest its nose only inches from the cloak.

“Control of time must come from me, but this I set in the cloak will enable it to access that part of my power, and extend it in the fullest degree from you to any who in that moment accompany you. This further gift I make to you freely and without obligation, recognising your fear for others whom the path we wish you to take cannot but endanger, and recognising that you have today outdone the Gray Lords in honour.”

Ap Lugh might have winced, but I wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole, and simply nodded.

“I am very glad to hear it, Underhill, as Adam and Jesse will be.”

“Indeed. Do give them my greetings, and Andrea Lafferty. And inform Gwyn ap Lugh of the exact sizes these wooden bullets would need to be. Wood is almost as deep in my nature as fire, earth, and water, and to me the Undead are abomination. Your friendly regard for the one you call Stefan is … quite surprising.”

Feeling the need to be polite, I squatted to bring myself closer to her eye level, using Manannán’s Bane to help me balance.

“I am equally glad to hear of your willingness in the matter of wooden bullets, Underhill, and yes it is, even to me. I do not know all of Stefan’s tale, but I believe he was, when human, most fiercely honourable and Turned against his will. He has retained far more honour than any other Undead I have met, though Thomas Hao retains some at least. and Stefan also has a full sense of humour, as none other of his kind seems to have. I cannot avow it, but I believe the two oddities are connected.”

“An interesting thought.” A strange look entered her gaze. “And as I cannot say I do not contain abominations I will not slay, though I hold them under wards of cold iron and strong magic, I will not condemn any you value, however strangely. You will speak to Medicine Wolf of all this, that it knows I do not extend my power within its territory without due and known cause?”

“I have, and will further, Underhill. It does not find undeath in itself abominable, only interesting, but strongly abhors the practices of mind control the Undead use, and so favours their reformation.”

“I am glad to hear it. Here.” She stood, offering me the cloak, and I settled it round my shoulders with relief, feeling pressure abate and its own considerably heightened power, with which I would have to come to terms. “It will take a while to settle again, but on my word nothing I have done in any way alters or impugns its dedication to you.”

“So I feel, Underhill. And there are times when even knowing the fae are as they must be, I greatly wish a simple statement of thanks were not so perilous.”

Once again she startled me by softly clapping hands.

“Another formula I have not heard in long ages, and honestly spoken. Truly, you are a rare one.” Her gaze was acute. “I will say also, consider that living as long as we entails infinite repetition, so that which is fresh and rare under the sun attracts our grace. Fare you all well, Overhill, until we meet again.” Joel and Brent received nods they returned, and Skuffles a pat that made it shiver pleasure, while I gave a bow that made her smile. “Come, Gwyn ap Lugh, let us speak of what we might and must do.”

She skipped off along the façade, and ap Lugh gave me a look I might in anyone else have called harried.

“Until Sunday, Mercedes Elf-friend. Joel Arocha, Brent Lanning, Skuffles. Fare you all well.”

He … trotted after Underhill, and I took a deep breath.

“No discussion until we’re Overhill again, guys, Skuffles.”

No-one was arguing, though Skuffles again wanted the back seat, and on instinct I draped the cloak over its body, added the feather to its ruff, and propped Manannán’s Bane up so it too could see. Swinging out of the drive I felt the weight of watching attention become more thoughtful, if no less intent, and at the gate Vorðr pursed her lips.

“Big doings, Mercedes Elf-friend. Your cloak is … most surprisingly augmented.”

“Big ideas, Vorðr. The doing remains to be seen, and the cloak’s new power is a recognition of threat. If you know any dwelling Overhill who are vulnerable to the Undead, it would be kind to put them on their guard, and counsel them to keep silent until events … defray that need.”

“I hear you, Elf-friend, but nothing will keep any from talking of you. I’ll advise hushed tones, though. And know that whatever the Gray Lords may find it necessary to do, or say, you make many among us glad.”

We were on the border, so I took a chance.

“Back atcha, Vorðr. You might want to look up the words _Elvellon_ and _Edainellyn._ Oh, and Irpa and Þorgerðr enjoyed the film night we tried out, so if they’re good with it, you’d be welcome to attend another in peace and goodwill.”

It’s not so easy to describe how a smile is other than a grin, but I got a halfway blinding troll smile.

“Cool.” She swung both gate-leaves open without effort. “Fare you well Overhill, Mercedes Elf-friend and Troll-friend, and all your companions.”

Troll-friend had me as pleased as alarmed, but enough was enough and after thanking Skuffles, who vanished, and closing the roof, I hit the gas until we were clear of hedge and barbican before glancing at my watch with less surprise than was reasonable.

“We were in there for about five minutes realtime, guys, so we’ll be back well before dusk after all.”

It was an apology of sorts, and as Joel and Brent went from rotating heads and shaking shoulders, clearing the effects of magical pressure, to checking watches and exclaiming. I wondered what to make of it all, except that the fae really did want me to run, and would put their power where their mouths were. Political campaigns had always bored me, but the shape my own might take was, if many things, seriously not boring. All sorts of ideas tumbled, adding up in ways I could welcome and some I couldn’t, while I drove in humming silence, miles falling away behind and who knew what stretching ahead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The time jump meant I was home before Jesse or Adam. A part of me wanted to call Bran and do some yelling, but it wasn’t time, and after stashing cloak and feather, with thanks, I gave thought to priorities and reaction speeds and with a churning stomach put in a call to SAC Fisher. Neither Leslie nor her family had minded her transfer to Washington, the promotion being interesting and the pay-rise gratefully received, and she had, with husband Jude and their daughter Jenna, become welcome friends for Adam and Jesse as well as me. But there were opposite sides of various fences we could find ourselves on, and as I was calling during office hours using Adam’s encrypted system her wariness was no surprise.

“Hey, Mercy. Or is it Ms Hauptman?”

“Despite the encryption, Leslie, let’s say Mercy, though the Ms and SAC might be needed before we’re done. But this has to be as private as that encryption suggests, though you’ll notice I’ve enabled you to record, because I am and you’ll need your own copy.”

“Un huh.” There was a pause while she hit buttons. “Sounds interesting. And I usually get cold sweats when you do that.”

“What do you think I get?” She gave a muffled snort and I grinned. “Anyway, tell me, if you will, would I be right to think the Man keeps in rather more personal touch with you than your rank would suggest is reasonable?”

Her eyebrows rose. “You would, and he said to be open about it should you ask, within parameters of official secrecy. Besides wanting whatever low-down I have on anything you and Adam are up to, and Medicine Wolf, he mostly asks about how the Freed Pack are doing.”

“Huh. Decent of him. Do you know what he said to me, very _sotto voce_ , when we met at The Dalles last weekend?”

“Not a clue, Mercy, though your private exchange was widely noted.”

“So I saw. Then this goes no further, please.”

“Alright.”

“He urged me to run to succeed him, and offered his endorsement.”

Her chair creaked as she sat bolt upright. “He did? Lordy lawks, as my gran used to say. That would be … _really_ interesting. Are you going to?”

“I don’t yet know, Leslie. Besides a profound disinclination to jump at a running buzzsaw, there are major complications.”

“I’ll say. But still. You’d have my vote and Jude’s.”

“Thanks, maybe. But here’s the biggest and baddest complication. I know, you know, and the AED knows there are any number of preternatural things that have _not_ been spoken about, for good reasons, and one is what if anything might have been in those Wyoming cages missing bars. I now learn, from several horses’ mouths, that the AED and others in authority have been exerting all the pressure they can on the Marrok and Gray Lords to come clean about any further kind of preternatural remaining in the closet. Would you happen to know anything about any of that?”

She sounded even warier. “A little. You’re right we strongly suspect there’s at least one more major preternatural kind no-one is mentioning, pretty much the way Newton said there had to be at least one more big planet out there, and the predominant view is vampires with a minority vote for sasquatches.”

I couldn’t stop a laugh. “Really? Coyote told everyone they’re a crock.”

“Which is why, Mercy. He casually denied it, so for some they jumped to the top of the list. Makes sense that Elder Spirits would protect them — gentle forest giants and all that — but no-one knows where wolves and the Fae would be with them.”

“You need better analysts. If sasquatches were there to wheel out as gentle giants we’d have done it by now, if only to broaden the spotlight, and the Fae wouldn’t care in the least. And while my pretty-much Da can and does bend words like a pretzel, and would cheerfully steal your face right off your head” — she laughed — “that interview was straight up. He doesn’t do bare-faced lies. Leaves that to Anglos.”

“Un huh. We know better, but you know him.”

I laughed back. “Yup. But the question is, suppose I said, yeah, you’re right, there is another kind that’s not out — tribes of orcs, let’s say, who migrated here from the Misty Mountains, and yeah, they’ve been known to eat manflesh, so most of us really don’t like them much, but picking an all-out fight with them, which is what outing them would mean, is _not_ any kind of picnic, for anyone — what sort of plans might you have on file?”

There was a protracted silence.

“This is very tricky territory, Mercy, and a long way above my pay grade whatever my more unusual contacts, but I think I can safely say that if we — the FBI and so the Federal Government — were being offered help against anything that predates on US citizens, we’d be willing to go to bat. It’s what we do. But the ‘we’ is complicated — a whole bunch of agencies are concerned, and the military, and that kind of co-ordination is always a stretch, while there would also be serious legal issues, plus whatever magical power orcs can wield and what can stop it.”

“Oh yeah, but I can’t go there yet. Being a Tolkien fan as well as a coyote girl, I can say ‘orc’ is Old Norse and Old English for something untranslatable that comes in tribal numbers and you really don’t want to meet if you can help it. But any which way, there _are_ plans, and it would need the Man to co-ordinate with iron hands in velvet gloves?”

“Yes to both.” She paused, thinking. “May I ask how this connects with whether you decide to run?”

I blew out a breath. “Positing there really are orcs in the Mid-West or wherever, and that I and others have for compelling reasons hitherto kept shtum, it could be they represent a serious threat to me and mine, if crossed. Even to some fae, maybe. Silence would then be more than self-interested — part fearful, part politic, perhaps compliant with other powers’ policies. It might also reflect knowledge that while orcs are in the main bad news for everyone, not all orcs are equal, and some might be pretty decent, but all would likely suffer at human or other hands if outed. But if I were contemplating the presidential oath of office …”

“You would be taking it very seriously, because you are, within whatever necessary limits, strictly honest.”

“I would, and I try. I also take magical threat environments very seriously, which a lot of humans don’t. So here’s another question. Given that the Man is among those exerting pressure on the Marrok and Fae to do some ’fessing up, and on me to jump at that buzzsaw, is all that something he’s figured out? And is, um, angling to be able to count on?”

“Hoo!” Leslie scratched her head. “There’s a question, Mercy. I don’t know, and I haven’t thought down this line before, but my gut reaction is maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him, for sure. But I’m not at all confident he or any of us understands preternatural imperatives well enough to do the extrapolating. What I’ve heard and seen says … the slot we’re calling orcs is a nagging problem that’s hard for quite a few agencies to ignore, and as it’s a preternatural problem a preternatural answer would be good. And that means you might be, probably would be, swiftly thought of as a … co-ordinator, or conduit. But I haven’t heard a thing officially that suggests anyone’s expecting you to run, or making calculations based on that.”

“And unofficially?”

“Only … well, hope would cover it, but it’s more what you might do next, though that hashtag keeps trending.”

“Tell me. Jesse dropped me right in it with that one. And as there are certainly such expectations and calculations in several quarters, I take that under advisement. But, next question, has it occurred to anyone that tribes of orcs who left the Misty Mountains might have settled anywhere, or that outing those here would out others elsewhere? Europe, certainly, and Russia. India. China I don’t know, but I’d think, and other places too. More than domestic interagency co-operation would be needed.”

“Huh. Given international concern about manitous in anyone’s backyard someone somewhere might have canvassed that, but again, not that I’ve heard. FBI’s strictly domestic, save criminal extraditions. But I take it if these orcs did get outed they would not go away quietly.”

“Right, though it could be some are thinking hard about how better orcs might be persuaded to be … well, less orclike, is what it comes down to. Not so easy, but perhaps possible with a great deal of co-operation.”

“Itself not so easy. What do you want me to do, Mercy?”

“Timing is very tricky, Leslie, and however he intended, what the Man said to me has triggered a bunch of things. There are ongoing discussions about any presidential run that involve me, wolves, fae, Elder Spirits, and Medicine Wolf, and topics include what sort of anti-orc alliance anyone is really willing to sign up to, what offensive or defensive magical and other weapons anyone could provide, and what conditions might attach to their use. It might also be orcs are a pointed choice of … symbol, because even screaming Tolkien fans are not always happy with the idea the only good orc is a dead orc, and outing should _not_ mean exterminating.”

“No, it shouldn’t. But I take it some preternaturals feel that way about dead orcs, and a lot of humans might too.”

“Pretty much. But preternaturals realise that I could and will not campaign on any basis except tolerance. Bottom line, I have no problem with any orc that tries to attack me or mine — and that _mine_ would expand nationwide if I run — becoming toast, but an absolute problem with any orc minding its own business being zapped just for being an orc.”

“Sounds right to me.”

“Yeah. So I’m asking you to have a _quiet_ conversation reporting this one — with the Man and the AED.”

Leslie sounded surprised. “The Man I get, Mercy, but though the AED’s involved in the scent-evidence talks, and is overdue promotion, he isn’t in the chain of command for something like this.”

“He is now. I need someone I can trust, and who can think straight about the preternatural. Can you get him and the Man together on a very encrypted line?”

“Yeah, that I can do.”

“Then please play them your recording. If I can’t secure preternatural agreements, and there are heavy issues involved, I may have to call the whole thing off. I understand that might be impossible, but if I have to I will pull the plug as hard as I can. But if I can find enough common ground, and it’s looking decent, it might be possible to have a _really_ interesting conference call, using all of Adam’s fancy gear, as soon as next week.”

“And more huh. A conference call involving whom, if you can say?”

“The most senior anti-orc commanders on all sides — Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, with the Man, the AED, and heads of agencies including the Pentagon.”

“Right.” It was Leslie’s turn to blow out a breath. “You don’t do things by halves, do you, Mercy?”

“Wars with orcs don’t come that way, Leslie. Leave well alone _and_ stay shtum, or get serious — anything in between would be a recipe for a lot of deaths, and I’d be putting Jesse on the line, and Adam. Others too — more orcish orcs would aim for collateral damage to punish me and indulge themselves. So if at some point you receive an anonymous package suggesting precautions to take for yourself and your family …”

“Oh yeah.”

“Good. I am hoping such a package can be distributed more widely and less anonymously, intel reports being needed in any fight. But I am juggling chainsaws, and have everyone pushing me without thinking about the threat to those I love. Tell the Man that if it happens he’ll be dealing on his sworn word, as he had to in the Medicine Wolf Accords.”

“I hear you, Mercy. I should make that call today?”

“Yes. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Oh, and security here is already up, with my and Jesse’s guard details. We are _not_ expecting anything to break yet, but also not taking unnecessary chances.”

“Un huh, I hear you again.”

“Good.” I took a deep breath. “Just one more thing, then, which is taking a considerable chance and I won’t be taking questions. Given that orcs don’t … cease to live unless killed, they can get pretty old, and so tend to think both very long-term and twistedly enough to dazzle even a double- and triple-thinking spymaster. So if anything weird is happening, run it by me or Adam a lot sooner than later. And as it happens, with these particular orcs, wood through the heart works as silver does on wolves, so you might care to think about the value of thresholds and the fictional character called Renfield with what psychologists have had to say about that. Give my best to Jude and Jenna.”

There was a short silence.

“Thank you, Mercy. Mine to Adam and Jesse.” I waited out a pause. “And some wider thanks, I think. Sounds like you’re still doing the job Cantrip should have done, at a level the FBPA can’t yet cope with.”

“Seems that way too. Has anyone worked out how to say FBPA?”

She laughed. “No. F-Beeps, Feebpas, and Fubs are all in contention.”

“And all bad. I think I’m going with Farouts.”

“Hey, that has some kick. Look after yourself, Mercy.”

We rang off, and Adam came in. I whacked my forehead.

“Sorry, love — I forgot the encryption would trigger the lock. I didn’t mean to shut you out of your own room.”

He’d only added that feature last year, when we were hosting the Accords, and I hadn’t used the system enough for it to have sunk in.

“Not a problem. I’ve only been back ten minutes, and Jesse said Brent told her you’d been in here a while.” He gave me a kiss and propped himself against the desk. “Who were you calling?”

“Leslie. Long and the short is we were right about human pressure on Bran and the Fae, who are serious about outing the Undead and in many ways want them gone, but will accept forced reform with what we called thinning ranks as necessary. I know. But Medicine Wolf is all for a code of conduct — vamps don’t intrinsically offend it but it doesn’t like mind control. So I thought I should get the Man’s attention. I have a recording, as does Leslie, which she’ll be playing him and the AED, and you and Jesse should hear. Brent, Darryl, and Warren too.”

He gave me a long look. “Sounds like you’ve been one busy coyote. It’ll snowball out of control fast.”

“It already is, love. Leslie said pretty much everyone federal knows there has to be another major kind of preternatural, and most reckon vamps though there’s a minority vote for sasquatches. Idiots.”

“Because Coyote denied they exist?”

“In one.” Adam grinned. “Anyway, the lid’s coming off sooner than later, so we’re into damage control whatever we do, and grabbing the steering-wheel while we can seems … the least insane course, despite everything.”

“Probably. You’re sure about the Fae? I was expecting more than one meeting to be necessary.”

“I am, but yes, several will be. Ap Lugh said he’d be in touch Sunday, with others. Today was Yo-Yo Edythe, Baba Yaga, Nemane, and The Dagda, but they were all lined up, and we were talking in the Rose Garden.”

Adam frowned. “You went Underhill?”

“Well, yes, because, ap Lugh’s words, the whole reservation is borderland. But no, not the Garden of Manannán’s Death — _the_ Rose Garden, glamoured behind the building it ought to be behind, full-size.”

He stared in surprise, and slowly smiled. “Really? The Executive Mansion?”

“Really. Well, glamourly. No West Wing, and I wouldn’t enter, but it wasn’t just heavy-handed Fae humour because Underhill showed up as we were leaving, is going to think hard about shining Overhill, and freely offered two more gifts. The cloak’s been … I was going to say boosted, but maybe given a plug-in would be nearer the mark, so that if I see a vamp attack coming I can extend slow time to those with me.”

Adam whistled. “I can’t say that’s anything but welcome. Speed out of the dark is not easy to counter. And the second?”

“She wants exact specs for wooden bullets, and will be happy to provide same, in numbers. Called the Undead abomination, but accepted I will not sign up for attempted extermination. So I don’t know where you are with that, but it’s gone right up the agenda.”

“There are problems, but if bullets will fit existing machinery the only tough one is internal ballistics — if the wood’s hard enough to work it does not like rifling that spirals through its grain, so to avoid jams we’d need smooth bore with consequences for accuracy or a pre-cut groove.”

“Huh. I bet Underhill could _grow_ bullets that way, if it had specs. Or maybe a softer shell round a harder core if it didn’t mess aerodynamics too much.” Adam blinked. “I was expecting the problem to be length — I don’t know a short slug _wouldn’t_ work, but I have to think longer is better.”

“ _Grow_ bullets with a soft case? You _are_ back in left field, love. But that would be a better bet than pre-cut grooving. And I agree about length, so as distance is unlikely to be a problem, and we wouldn’t want them to go through more than one vamp, less propellant in a shorter case would make a longer bullet possible. I did push it this morning, but this sharply narrows what’s needed, so I’ll push again. Glock 22s would be good. The fun never stops. Any more magical answers to anything?”

“Not today. I met another troll, though, Vorðr, on the Walla Walla gate — which is glamoured as a full-blown barbican — and got called Troll-friend as well as Elf-friend.” Adam closed his eyes for a second with a long-suffering look, and I shrugged. “Better than -enemy, however you cut it, and she wasn’t on the gate by chance however ap Lugh managed to forget to warn her we were coming. Anyway, film night was fun.”

“For a coyote value of fun, though I agree anyone sensible wants trolls on their side.”

“Just slightly. Oh, and both The Dagda and Underhill like Skuffles. Vorðr asked after it, and it stayed around — sat in back with Joel and the roof open.”

Adam closed his eyes again. “Skuffles is wonderful, but please tell me you didn’t drive US12 like that.”

I grinned. “I didn’t, despite temptation. Too cold outside — it was a lot warmer inside, though I don’t know if that’s permanent or just some balmy weather to go with talks in the Rose Garden.”

“Who knows, love? But I’d be glad if you kept Skuffles as much as a surprise as possible, rather than something anyone could try to plan for.”

“Pretty much everyone saw the trial, Adam, and the Skuffles Appreciation Society hashtags are still rolling.”

“Yeah, but they haven’t seen Skuffles since, and most beings don’t look at you and think ‘where’s the big coyote with all the skulls and teeth?’. Let’s keep it that way as long as possible, hey?”

It was worry for me, and I had my own, so I gave him a kiss. “Not a problem, love, though it’s sufficiently me it does like coming out to play. But I should get cooking if we want food. Are Darryl and Warren here?”

“Yeah. They’re both on shift.”

“Call them and Brent and Jesse in and play that recording, while I slice, dice, and spice for a risotto?”

“I can manage that.”

“Oh, and loop Bran and Charles in too? I’m none too happy with Bran, because I’m pretty sure we’re both dancing to his and ap Lugh’s tune, if we’re not all dancing to Wulfe’s, but blindsiding him won’t help.”

Adam gave me a long look as we went through to the kitchen, but after a how-was-school chat with Jesse — it sucked, and she hadn’t had a chance to talk with Ms Zeeman, but there weren’t any other problems — I was left alone to chop and think. Quite a few things I hadn’t expected to seemed to be working out, but any number of flies could still get into the ointment and my list of pressing questions hadn’t got shorter. I was onto frying in the oversize wok when Adam, Jesse, and the others came in, all looking surprised. I distributed beers and went back to stirring.

“You’re really going to do it then, Mom?”

“I don’t seem to have much choice, Jesse, because absurd as it remains it answers several beings’ problems, so probably. And while I do and will feel very bad about Stefan, especially if anything happens to him, vamps have made themselves into a nightmare for everyone else.”

“In spades.” Darryl didn’t look so happy despite agreeing. “The orcs were good, Mercy, but you blew it wide at the end. Any particular reason?”

“What did Bran think?”

Adam shrugged, his gaze thoughtful. “He didn’t seem surprised by any of it, Mercy, though he had also liked orcs. But I am surprised he was not more surprised, and I think you are right about who is playing the tune.”

“Un huh. I had several reasons, Darryl. The Feebs were mostly there, I want the Man thinking straight, not worrying about sasquatches, and if anything leaks from Wulfe Leslie or her family might become targets.”

“ _From_ Wulfe?”

“Oh yeah. Remember She of Livorno?” I told them what Baba Yaga had said, setting water to boil. “So while actually knowing would be good, that has to wait until I can talk to Stefan. And as Bran knew exactly who and what she was, and ap Lugh made a point of telling him fast, this particular bit of Marrokery started no later than that. And if he said nothing substantive, he means ‘carry on’, so we need two things. One is that anonymous warning package to send selectively — this is what vampires are and do, with what you can do to protect yourself. Speed, mind control, feeding and sheep, Renfields, agents, seethes, magic users, translocation, and hierarchy, plus sunlight, stakes, decapitation, fire, thresholds, religious symbols _if_ you believe, age and propensity to go friable when dismissed, and whatever else we can think of. Vamp 101. The images of my trailer after the vamps had at it but could _not_ get in might be good. All as clear and straightforward as possible. Can you do a draft, Darryl?”

He scratched his head. “I can try. Dismissed?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s what fae say of killing the Undead. Because they’re dead already killing them is insufficiently true.”

“Huh. Figures. Hierarchy including the Master of the Night?”

“Not yet, for my money. Just seethes. It’s for alerting unknowing allies to practicalities. Larger vamp politics will be for the big strategy meeting, if that happens. A classified appendix.”

“Right. And the second thing?”

The rice went in to cook.

“A code of acceptable vamp conduct. Bottom lines are no killing human law couldn’t recognise as justifiable, no hypnotising, feeding, Renfielding, or Turning without informed consent.”

“Huh. Wouldn’t that amount to starving them?”

“I don’t think so. To humans vamps can seem pretty sexy when they want, so they’ll just have to put some work into seducing without the magic Rohypnol. Think _True Blood_ and Fangtasia. And there could be a real bonus for us, when the age thing breaks, because for humans silly enough to forget the being dead part seduction by a vamp would be a more attractive shot at longevity than being savaged almost to death by a wolf.” That brought very thoughtful looks. “Which might mean we’d need limits on how many consenting humans can be Turned. I’ve talked to Kyle about some of it, Warren — get his opinions and try for a clear statement of essentials?”

“Sure. What happens to any vamp in breach of it, though?”

“Now that’s one of the high-dollar questions. Unbreakable coffin for a while? Defanging? Garlic-saturated underwear?” Jesse had been looking worried, but that made her snort. “Then again, it’ll be the responsibility of vamps who sign up to police their own, and I would imagine Wulfe has means of persuasion. Stefan and Thomas Hao as well.”

“Marsilia?”

“Who knows where she’s at with this? But if she were on-board, I’d think. What matters is to offer a clear path of survival, however the conditions will irritate, against the highest possible odds of losing a long … unlife. Vamps are very bad at doing anything except what they feel like doing, but if the Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, and Man are all telling them to shape up, ship out, or get it in the neck … well, I’d listen hard. Canadian Prime Minister and Mexican President too — no bolt-holes. Did Adam tell you about wooden bullets?”

I got nods as I gave up stirring and turned down the gas.

“So a new threat, from humans, but also wolves, who have speed, and fae if we can get Glock 22s. And avatars — speed varies, but all have some edge. Problem is they want all vamps gone anyway, plus some running scared given the casualties we’ve taken from vamps.”

“Right. I’d forgotten avatars and vamps had a real thing going.” Darryl shrugged apologetically. “You liking Stefan is confusing. Why is it so strong again?”

“Avatars see ghosts, Darryl, so they can find vamp seethes and houses.” Warren drank beer. “Maybe something else as well. When vamps came west Amerindians caught on very quickly, and were always reckless foes. Took a lot of early arrivals out, but as vamp numbers grew they started taking heavy casualties, and that’s been the way ever since.”

“The ghosts of vamp victims are _not_ happy campers, and hard to ignore once seen. There’s something of the fae reaction to the Undead as well — it’s wrong in a way no other form of life manages. And all First People were under _very_ heavy Anglo assault, as were Elder Spirits, because of the wanton killings and ecological impact.” I wasn’t keen on this, but Warren and Darryl were family in all but name. “You should know I have personal freight, besides Gauntlet Boy and Blackstone. Record says Joe Old Coyote died in a car wreck, but he had vamp help, because he’d been taking out local bloodsuckers and they’d caught on. Coyote says it was fair, but neither I nor my mom feel that way, however I’m conflicted about Stefan. But he’s like a wolf Changed against his will, still running with rogues who continue to Change others. How much slack can you cut?”

That provoked discussion amid table-setting while I drained rice before tipping it into the wok and going back to stirring. Pepper from a rainbow mill and fresh basil improved the risotto nicely, and once I had with Jesse’s help dished it conversation slackened. They’d have picked it up again once hunger was satiated, but I’d had enough vamps for one day, and Adam, who knew it, steered talk before getting the table cleared and taking Darryl and Warren to discuss what the pack should be told, and make a round of the night shift. I found Jesse looking at me with concern, and raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I just thought you’d be a really good president. I hadn’t realised it would mean anything like this, and I really don’t want to hurt Stefan.”

I slung an arm around her. “Me either, Jesse, but he knows as well as we do there’s a problem, and the status quo was never going to last. And the beings pushing are Bran and Gwyn ap Lugh, with some more-or-less witting help from the Man and AED. Feebs, at any rate. So it’s not on you, though there is a lesson in thinking sideways about things. And by way of practice, tell me about this _South Pacific,_ and why Ms Zeeman wants you to be a gender-switched Lieutenant Cable.”

The answers kept me occupied and drew in Adam when he came back, so we all went to bed more thoughtful than not.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The number of new things in my life could be overwhelming, so I’d developed strict routines and Fridays meant attacking paperwork, followed by training to give me something to look forward to, a way to work off irritation, and because if it wasn’t inked in it was too easy to let slip.

 _Clean Up the Basin!_ had become so big it had a full-time staff in Pasco, but as Medicine Wolf and I were patrons, and its income came from sales of things bearing images of us, I kept a close eye. Early pics were still extremely popular — golden-eyed and blood-soaked me on the morning of Cantrip, post-Manannán me with salty feet and forehead on Medicine Wolf’s muzzle, and the shot of me Jesse took during the Accord talks — but images of Elder Spirits were up there too, with Irpa and a family of unicorns bopping to the Grateful Dead. Legal advice had been strongly against any parody of the Fox logo, but there were tees, sweats, and coasters that said ‘I prefer Coyote News’. Andrea’s idea of an image of Medicine Wolf with the slogan _I do not need enemies to know who I am_ had taken off like several rockets, and the slogan could equally accompany images of the Elder Spirits, wolves, or me, as well as making a lapel-pin in its own right. The Gray Lords had strongly approved of the sentiment, and as their appearances were already thoroughly public (and they could choose whatever glamoured disguise they wanted at need), tees and posters of Gwyn ap Lugh, The Dagda, and Baba Yaga, complete with flying mortar, had also been licensed, and sold exceptionally well to the benefit of both fae and _Clean Up the Basin!_

In every case a slice went to the subjects of the image and sometimes KEPR or whoever had the idea, as well as manufacturers’ and retailers’ allowed profits, before the charitable chunk, so accountants kept tight rein. I checked my own figures on principle, as well as those for the trust fund that meant Jesse would be able to do pretty much anything she wanted. But there were always more things people thought of that images could adorn, and as some would have offended anyone, never mind Elder Spirits and unicorns, that needed vetting. Tees, sweats, totes, posters, lapel-pins and mugs were OK, and I allowed jigsaws, calendars, diaries, coasters, and fridge magnets, but not cutesy ephemera, school or sports gear, or partial images on anything. Nor were all manufacturers welcome, as production had to be seriously green. Nothing gross had come up this week, though more swimwear requests had been refused — I might have to put up with decorating the nation’s chests, but not decorating its butts — and a complex agreement about licensing for streaming of the All-Star fundraiser had gone to Jenny for final scrutiny.

With a sigh I went on to garage accounts, such as they were, then called in Mary Oliver for PR management. I had foolishly expected interview requests to die down, but the world’s desire to know what I thought about everything was apparently insatiable. To keep up momentum on the Columbia Restoration I gave regular domestic interviews pushing it and green action generally, handled on a pool system, and though I had been wary of doing more Mary had shown me how selective favours could generate surprising results. Once Bible-belters had seen I really was a regular churchgoer, even if wishy-washy Episcopalian, I’d become their go-to preternatural of choice, and my combination of being ruthless when attacked while wanting as much peace and harmony as possible turned out to have serious appeal, despite my social liberalism. Most of the talk-show hosts were too volatile to risk, but I’d done sessions with more sober Baptist and Mormon stations, pushing thinking through what stewardship meant for consumer businesses and acceptable lifestyle, and saying what I could about magic and preternatural affairs, while contributing to the debate about how lawyers should and should not be allowed to question victims of rape or other serious assault.

International requests were a different ballgame, but I’d spoken to a score of organisations, including Russian and Chinese state media, the _Times of India_ , and bigger regional newspapers and stations. Wolves were out everywhere, but lacking a Marrok did not have the cohesion of North America — which hadn’t stopped European, South American, and Australian wolves from generating versions of the Paths of Assertion and Mercy, so that was a recurrent issue. Another was Elder Spirits and being a coyote girl, with a heavy dose of River Devil, and though I never said much as it seemed like boasting, some interest in Amerindian culture was respectful enough I’d brokered agreements with the Yakama about documentaries. It brought in money they were glad to have, and gave my not-exactly father a supply of tails to tweak and cameras to preen for, which I devoutly hoped, without much expectation, would keep him busy enough to head off worse mischief. There was also, Lord help me, a tour company in Richland that did _Mercy’s Adventures_ day-trips to Finley, Kennewick, and the Columbia Gorge — though not Walla Walla, their first attempt having seen their coach pick up eight punctures in less than fifty yards of access road, to Adam’s and my amusement. I couldn’t stop them cruising past the house, but after they’d intruded on the Freed Adam and Ramona paid them a joint visit, unhappy police in tow, to suggest with not-so-well banked rage that they would find self-regulation a great deal easier than being shunned by all preternaturals and the Yakama.

With current issues sorted, I took Mary to the kitchen, where Brent was doing fiendish sudoku, made coffee and chocolate, and told her what had happened and might be happening. Her biggest issue was security for her children, but they were already wary of vamps, and beyond that there was a bunch of things. Top of the list was my plans for the public, which made her stare and led to a useful conversation about campaign laws, hard and soft money, and the kind of ethics I wanted to impose. Mary agreed to talk _very_ discreetly to a senior staffer for the Governor, whom she knew from dealing with coverage of Hanford, and looked thoughtful.

“You’re really going to do it, Mercy?”

“Increasingly probably, yes. There are still deal-breakers to negotiate. And I’m cautious about First People, especially the Yakama.”

“I’d think they’d be all for it. A native president would really be something.”

“Maybe. But tourism’s already up enough to be a nuisance, despite the money and donations to _Clean Up the Basin_ , and there’ll be any number of things someone will think a good idea that I won’t possibly be able to promise, or even endorse. It’s whether they’ll settle for what I might be able to do despite the increased problems.”

“Meaning?”

“Completing the Columbia Restoration, getting bison migration sorted, continuing to push green reforms hard, maybe some returns from museums, and double maybe some action on federal employment quotas.”

“Which is a pretty good package.”

“And you’ll think of other things if it happens, Mercy.” Brent sounded earnest. “You’re worried because so much will be new to you, so you can’t make plans for half of it, but you react very sure-footedly, and you have a low tolerance for official BS or flannel. First People I’ve seen you with have also been a lot more respectful than pushy, unless they have river-frontage, and that’s land talking.”

I gave him a fish-eye but he wasn’t wrong. The other avatars weren’t much interested in being out to Anglos, never mind the world, and none knew Elder Spirits other than their own in the way I’d come to, so I got a lot of soft-voiced respect from most Amerindians I met, especially if I was wearing Thunderbird’s feather. But that authority — and I _still_ didn’t know what if anything it did except look good — was about the inevitable scramble for re-emerging land, a dispute I‘d tried to hand to the Washington and Oregon state legislatures for a determination about the rights of those who had lost it to the dams in the first place, and been less than generously compensated. They were still arguing, other basin states watching with acute interest, and I was unhappily aware that giving them a kick was going to be necessary soon — but if Gordon’s delegated authority would hold for that, any national campaign was another matter.

“I’ll tell you if I agree after tomorrow, Brent. But assuming I get green lights all round, Mary, are you up for an expanding job?”

“Not on my own, Mercy. I don’t have the experience, and a national campaign would eat time my children need. But in principle, I’d certainly want to support you in every way I could.”

“Thanks. And if? Presidents need Press Secretaries.”

“Huh. I’m flattered you’d think me capable, but no. That will be a DC job, and I won’t uproot the kids again, or myself.”

I’d been thinking for a while that she might be almost ready to wonder about loving someone again, and I understood all too well about kids, so I nodded, trying out more new thoughts.

“Noted, though if we get so far any recommendations will be welcome. And though this is so far ahead of myself it seems pure hubris, I have no love for DC either. I’m also dubious about Jesse changing schools in her senior year, and Adam having to step back from his business when he can’t from the pack, so if, if, if, I’d be a president with a strong tendency to decamp to a western White House.”

“I bet. And yes, that might change my parameters. With a professional staff I wouldn’t mind holding the fort here.” She gave me a smile. “And the kids would be over the moon. You know what they think of you.”

I did. Josh and Sara were twelve and ten respectively, very tight from dealing with their father’s death, and thrilled sideways to know Medicine Wolf and Coyote. And, I had to concede though it freaked me out, me. Seeing me cook and hearing me grumble about having to expand my wardrobe had chipped away at the awe, but they were also very taken with the earth fae, who preferred children to adults and were punctilious about their own respect for an Elf-friend.

“OK. Thanks, Mary. That’s helpful to know, even if I have very mixed feelings about how much of this absurdity seems plausible. Talk to that staffer today, please, and check Caroline’s and Penny’s schedules for the next fortnight.”

“Will do. Have you talked to the Governor?”

“Not about any of this. Should I?”

“Yes, and sooner than later. However he’s been a party man I’d bet he’ll be happy to endorse you _if_ he has enough warning to lay groundwork. All three mayors, too.” Mary squinted, a sign she was thinking hard. “And others. Mercy, you have solid respect nationwide, but in the Tri-Cities it runs bone-deep. Hanford mostly, but forensic work too, and the way you’ve dealt with the Freed and their families. PDs would be onboard, and local business.” She waggled a hand. “Candidates stand as themselves, but a truly viable independent in a presidential campaign is pushing boundaries, and with care you could lock down more than Washington the day you announce. And, my God, what about the Cascadia evacuation?”

I waggled a hand. “Assuming it all works, a lot of free publicity no-one can do much about, but also a lot of uncertainty even with the merge of scientific and manitou data.” Which had left the geophys people ecstatic. “No-one thinks even a divided quake would be less than force 8, and other faults might go too, so property damage could be _very_ severe.”

“Yes, but if the evacuation is orderly, the more severe damage is the more it’ll underline the saving of life. Won’t it?”

“Maybe. Shocky people are odd. But there’s nothing I can do beyond the Public Service Announcements I’ve agreed.”

When they’d realised it really was going to happen, at the Wazzu conference, the governors of all three West Coast states had cornered me to ask if I’d front the largest peacetime evacuation in history, and little as I relished it I hadn’t been able to deny their logic. I found it hard to believe I would really increase compliance, but they all thought so, and given the potential for chaos playing the odds made sense. Scripts were still being written, but I’d done some PSAs and KEPR was booked for more.

“Any other thoughts?”

Mary frowned. “There have been suggestions campaigning should be suspended for a week either side, to allow concentration on the more urgent matter. You should push for that. Anyone running will be going for publicity, showing responsibility at a critical time and so forth, but if they’re not West Coast they’ll find it tricky. You, though, will be centre-stage.”

“Huh. I’ll think about that one, and take soundings. Using what might yet be a major disaster seems wrong, but I’ll have to do something with it. But please go on thinking about the … regional candidacy you were suggesting, and what might need to be done locally. I hadn’t got that far.”

Mary promised a draft paper by Monday, and with business done I put together a light lunch, with steak to satisfy Brent. Once we’d eaten, Mary went to do email, and after allowing time to digest Brent and I changed and headed for the basement. I missed the gym where I used to take martial-arts classes, but my fame made using it impossible, and as Brent held three black belts he’d been an obvious replacement teacher. His wolf toughness meant I could try things I could not have with a human — mostly speed, but also new tricks I was learning.

The theory was simple. The force of any impact depends on the mass and speed of whatever does the impacting, and if I couldn’t usefully increase my mass I could push at speed. It had always been high, but hard work and learning to draw on my increased magic had upped it, while Brent had done wonders for my footwork and a spinning flying kick I’d always hankered to manage. One problem was how much impact I really needed for any given move, which depended on my opponent and mattered, because quite a few things I could now do would, without check, inflict catastrophic damage on humans. Another was how else I could integrate magic, and a third advantages my furry self might offer. Even with Brent I couldn’t do that to the full, because I couldn’t change without stripping and Adam had limits, so he and I kept that practicing strictly to ourselves, and it had what was by now a traditional outcome.

We had an audience, because I brought the cloak, Manannán’s Bane, and Carnwennan to the workout room. Fighting and defence were their business, and I wouldn’t ignore the chance they absorbed something of what I could and might need to do. I knew they appreciated the thought, and it had interested me considerably when, though I never wore the cloak to fight, Skuffles started turning up to watch, with occasional woofs or yips of approval. It was _way_ too fast for there to be any point in sparring with me or Brent, but had invented a game where we tried to get a tennis-ball past it, and uniformly failed — if it didn’t catch the ball a large paw would whack it onto a different trajectory. It made me laugh, because it was Skuffles’s answer to my grumbles about playing coyote-in-the-middle, and ten minutes flat out was an excellent way of involving any muscle the session might have neglected. I was working through a series of ceiling-to-wall bounces that had Skuffles leaping to bat the ball sideways when Brent caught it and I realised Warren and Mary were watching.

Warren shook his head admiringly. “Skuffles, you are one fast coyote.”

“Isn’t it?” Brent grinned, though he was almost as winded as I was. “Greased lightning comes in a poor second. Problem?”

“No problem, Brent. Mercy, Leslie Fisher called to say you’ll want to be by your phone at 6 p.m. local, and sitting down.”

“Un huh.” I thought about what that warning and the speed of response might mean, and gave up — I’d know soon enough. “Mary?”

“Someone primed the Governor’s office, Mercy. As soon as I emailed the staffer he called. I shifted to Adam’s encrypted line, and framed a hypothetical to ask if a member of the FEC might be available. There was some blinking, a strong ‘yes’, and a request for permission to brief the Governor, which I gave. I hope that’s OK?”

I wasn’t happy about who all had known what before I did, but nodded.

“Of course. What’s your take?”

“I’m not sure, but the Governor and Secretary met the President when he flew in last week, so they could have talked then. And the Governor is up for re-election, so he’ll be wondering how to get your endorsement.”

Skuffles padded over and consoled me with a coyote grin while I digested that. A part of me understood the logic, but a larger part wanted to high-tail it for the woods at the idea I was someone a successful governor needed to court. Then again, I quite liked him, he’d been good at the Wazzu conferences, and I was going to want his help with kicking the State Legislature, so mutual back-scratching had some appeal. I gave Skuffles a jaw-rub, which made it croon, leaning into my fingers, and Mary a crooked smile.

“Without much difficulty, as it happens. Add this to your paper?”

“You bet.” Mary hesitated, and I gave an enquiring look. “Have you thought about a running-mate?”

“Some. You think the Governor would want?”

“Maybe.”

“Huh. But no. One independent will need another, and I doubt either main party would tolerate a member doing that.”

“Points. Who, then?”

“No idea, Mary, except human and able to disguise the insanity necessary to agree.”

She and Brent laughed, but Warren only smiled.

“Not so much, Mercy. It’d be a privilege as well as a trial.” I gave him a look, and smile became grin. “You have strong feelings about gender?”

I shrugged. “There are arguments both ways. Has to be thirty-five plus as of January, though.”

“Yeah. Ethnicity?”

“Same goes. No odds to me, but being cynical I could probably count on most non-Anglo votes, while it’s Anglos who’ll be most worried.”

“True, though older, richer Anglos would be nearer the mark.”

“Mmm.” That wasn’t wrong, but most Anglos were richer than most of anyone else. “My gut still says an Anglo man would offer … useful contrast, let’s say.” And a backstop for those who’d think it needed, including me. “But there’s all the other elections too — congressional, gubernatorial, and state legislatures. Getting things done means lawmakers, not just a president. Who does anyone know who might be up for it? And who do your friends know? We can’t say much unless and until, but if it happens I’ll be asking every Alpha, and everyone else I can think of, to put up candidates as widely as we can.” With Skuffles around my sense of mischief tended to bubble, and I batted eyelids at Warren. “You’d make a lovely senator.”

He stared. “Lord preserve me. The age thing will be bad enough.”

“So put them together, Warren. Exactly no-one could claim they matched your experience, and it’d tickle Kyle pink. Well, pinker.” That got a grin. “There are those politics, too, for which you might do a _lot_. And I didn’t say _federal_ senator.”

“Huh. The insanity’s catching.”

“You bet. If I’m being thrown to the wolves, so are the wolves.”

I’d made that joke before but Brent laughed. Mary was squinting again.

“Actually, Warren, Mercy is not wrong at all. And from a wider wolf point-of-view, confessing your age and coming out because in running it’d be dishonest not to could play very well indeed. I know it worries you, but, oh, _Born with this nation, and still fighting for it._ ” Warren’s eyebrows shot up. “Nothing defensive. Proud of it.”

“ _Gay since 1776 and going strong._ ”

Warren looked both appalled and unwillingly thoughtful, and I gave him a coyote grin. However it freaked anyone else, changing the rules was one of my comfort zones.

“Remember the other thing about age, Warren, if we do wind up outing vamps. I meant every word of that. They’ve been big enough trouble I have no problem offloading whatever we can in their direction. It should also mean we’re not the preternatural bad guys any more — _we_ came clean, as did the Fae. Vamps didn’t. Do ask yourselves why that might be.”

“Un huh.” Warren nodded. “That I get, Mercy. And Stefan saw the Spanish West before I did. We’ve talked about it a little.”

“Yeah. But I don’t know how that’ll play, Warren, and thinking about the conversation I have to have with Stefan is scaring me silly.” I took a breath. “I hope he’s seen it coming, and I think he will have, but still.”

Mary was squinting yet again. “I only met him once, Mercy, and there are lots of things about vamps I don’t get at all, but … off the top of my head, if he … stays a friend, and needs an acceptable _public_ image, I have to think a wolf _and_ vamp exposé of Western history could play very well.”

“Mmm. That’s a thought. Warren?”

He shrugged, still looking as thoughtful as unhappy. “Maybe. I said you’d provided a better context, Mercy, and that would be more of it. But I should return to work — I only came to tell you about Leslie’s call.”

Everyone went back to whatever they were supposed to be doing, and I took cloak, Manannán’s Bane, and Carnwennan upstairs before grabbing a shower and changing into some of my new wardrobe. I still thought jeans and a tee were all anyone sensible needed, except winter gear, and if it happened the presidential wardrobe was going to be broadened considerably, but I’d been experimenting with slacks and blouses, as well as a wider range of dresses. I went with a dress that combined a tailored top with an A-line skirt that hit mid-calf, in a dark red that suited me and Adam and Jesse liked. I added an apron to get a big smoked ham basted and into the oven, opted for new potatoes because they didn’t need peeling, and decided greens could wait. Then I asked Brent to give me two bullets for his Glock, extracted one load, and fetched a micrometer from the toolbench Adam and I sometimes used, though I was usually thinking engine parts where he was thinking electronics. With answers written down I took a breath and made an encrypted call.

“Mercedes Elf-friend?”

“Gwyn ap Lugh. It seems even more people might be dropping me in it than I knew yesterday.” I told him about the Governor’s office, and was interested his immediate thoughts were a good match for Mary’s, so I went on to candidates for other races. “The Medicine Wolf Accords specifically recognise dual citizenship for full-blooded fae living Overhill who hold property and pay taxes. And there are the half-fae. Forgive me, but I wondered if your daughter might be interested.”

There was a silence I waited out, relieved when he spoke calmly.

“That is an interesting thought, Mercy. And a kind one, I suspect. Lizzie is, among other things, increasingly bored. I will ask her. And the wider question had occurred to us, though we had no answer. Some half-fae would be willing, but nothing like the numbers you seem to wish for.”

“Un huh. I have a plan for the necessary numbers, Gwyn ap Lugh, but I would certainly want as many half-fae or true preterophiles as could be … dug up, prised out, and pushed along.”

He laughed. “So I would imagine. And very reasonably so. The rights of full-blood fae to stand for election would almost certainly be subject to legal challenge, though. A test-case would be interesting, but I doubt any final ruling could be obtained in time for next November.”

“Don’t bet on it, Gwyn ap Lugh. If the Man wants me to do things for him …”

“Mmm. Indeed. And it occurs to me that Irpa retains a house and bridge or two Overhill, and pays taxes.”

I grinned. “Anytime she wants to run for California’s 12th ward is just fine by me, Gwyn ap Lugh. So are trolls among pigeons.”

We both knew who held that ward, and he laughed again, more richly.

“Well, that is a most entertaining thought.” A different note came to his voice. “And would clarify much. We wanted you thinking, Mercy, and once again you do not disappoint.”

“Good to know, Gwyn ap Lugh. Now, in this matter of wooden bullets.”

He had not been expecting a detailed discussion of load-size, rifling, internal ballistics, and micrometry, nor minimum stake length in dismissing Undead, but conversation flowed right along. He, or someone, had once used a rose-thorn less than an inch long to good effect, which was promising ; it had been an Underhill rose-thorn, but the slugs would have similar provenance, and though no-one was ready to go for mass-production, he did promise samples on Sunday — a hardwood core with something softer outside. I heard him sigh.

“Regretting something, Gwyn ap Lugh?”

“Not in the least, Mercy, however you occasion the oddest tasks. Nor will Underhill — it is deeply intrigued by the idea of shining Overhill, and by your words about Stefan Uccello.”

“Surprise. Do pass on my gladness to Underhill, if you will, and Adam’s. He was _very_ happy about the … plug-in, I thought, the cloak received.”

More amusement laced his voice. “I believe I shall not be passing on that metaphor to many, Mercy, but Baba Yaga will like it.”

“Also good to know, Gwyn ap Lugh.” I took another steadying breath. “Might there be anything you can tell me about being a Troll-friend?”

“Ah. I heard about that. Vorðr is close to Irpa, and a … more reliable troll. Those confined Underhill are … astounded covers it, I believe.”

“As well they might be. Are they also thinking about it?”

“In so far as those trolls _can_ think. But Vorðr has the authority, so if any of them tried to eat you they’d be liable to clubbing. It grants nothing greater than Underhill granted, Mercy, but adds a layer of protection. And expresses gladness, of course — trolls have been as little defended and praised as earth fae, and have also found it a pleasing experience.”

“They’re very welcome, Gwyn ap Lugh. Folklore is not very … reliable about trolls, though. Is it possible that some being who does know what they’re talking about might, in free kindness, draw up a short briefing paper covering any recommended protocols, particularly sensitive areas or issues, and perhaps a little history?”

“Maybe, Mercy, though you have done well enough with three so far.”

“I was thinking Troll-friends probably meet more trolls.”

“There is that. Short-briefing-paper fairies, alas, are in very short supply, but the task has some interest. I will see.”

“I would be glad. And I may have more for you later. I spoke to Leslie Fisher yesterday, asking her to relay some things about what we called orcs to the Man and AED Westfield, and I am warned to expect a call at 6 p.m. today so things are moving right along.”

“With you, Mercedes, they rarely do otherwise, but I am glad to hear it and will look forward to any news.” He shook his head. “Orcs, yet.”

We ended the call, and I thought about his lack of reaction and that last remark, knowing he must have heard of my moves from Bran. Which raised questions. After some thought I sent Bran a message — _I understand your need to talk privily to Gray Lords, but if you are at any stage talking to multiple Alphas without talking to Adam personally, you will soon encounter more peanut butter than you can carry._ — and copied it to Adam. Then I spent a while updating my grid of questions, having to write in smaller and smaller letters and deciding I should have done it as a spreadsheet. A glance at my watch had me back in the kitchen, to get greens sorted before things moved along some more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

By the time my phone rang, at 6 precisely, I was set to answer, Adam and Jesse with me, out of camera shot. Bran was not officially listening, though I would bet Adam had his phone connected to Aspen Creek — which didn’t bother me, being more useful than not, while if Bran was playing games he was welcome to the earstrain. Adam’s system neatly popped the three callers onscreen, and I considered the Man and AED looking with surprise at what their own screens were telling them, while Leslie took it in her stride.

“Mr President, AED Westfield, SAC Fisher. From your speed, sir, I take it you’re entirely serious and wanting everybody on board?”

The Man blinked and gave me a crooked smile. “I am and we are, Ms Hauptman. You’re going to be very good at my job. But there are some serious questions here, even by my standards.”

“Oh yeah. Can I hope you weren’t supposing sasquatches, sir?”

The smile widened. “You can, though I am fascinated by your reasoning.” And faded. “Orcs, however, do not sound good.”

“Because most aren’t, sir. But some are, and more could be. Think poorer southern Anglos, maybe, most of a century back. Not good at all. But as Hank Dawson said that Saturday, change that seemed impossible proved quite possible, if patchy, with sufficient will and resources.”

“Yeah, I remember. Mentioned Ralph Abernathy. Interesting analogy. Orcs do it their way, I’d guess, and he may be a fool, but he’s our fool.”

“The first, certainly, the second, not so Randy Newman. Try he may be a fool, but he’s dead.” My gaze swung. “You know, AED, it might be that if there were orcs in those oddly barless cages, another orc told me a while back they’d been killed by their own, for the crime of being caught.”

The distaste I’d expected flickered on Westfield’s face.

“Might it, Ms Hauptman? That would be a … benchmark to remember.”

“Un huh. Then again, AED, suppose unrefusable orders for the killings came from Sauron the super-orc, infinitely amoral and no variety of US citizen or resident. There might be extenuating circumstances.” I took a deep breath, looking at the Man. “What we are going to need, sir, is a line drawn — amnesty for the past with future compliance and zero tolerance for breaches. That you have to carry, though if my darker speculations are right you’ll be passing the buck right along. You’ll also have to pick up the international side — we can supply plenty of data to pass on, but fullest attentions will have to be got. It’s also looking like we’ll be able to supply a magic weapon usable by anyone with hands — we in this instance meaning wolves and Fae. Medicine Wolf is on board but I haven’t yet been able to talk to Elder Spirits. We can supply an enormous amount of domestic intel and targeting data, while you and wolves supply domestic numbers, but it _has_ to be coercion into compliance, not attempted eradication.” Another deep breath. “I have made that stick with Underhill and Gwyn ap Lugh, Medicine Wolf agrees, and I will make it stick with Elder Spirits. Mr President, I need your word that your full weight and commitment is behind that, with the sternest instructions given. What do you need to know to give me that word?”

There was a long silence.

“Damn, but you do cut to the chase, Ms Hauptman, don’t you just? We’re talking vampires, right?”

It was time. “Yes.”

“Who need human blood?”

“Yes. Feeding need not harm, and can reward, but mind-tricks and coercion are easier. Donors need not burn out but many do, terminally, or are killed, negligently or deliberately. Observance of law is largely expedient. Turning may be offered as a reward, with consequent bound loyalty. There are suborned humans, Renfields, and employed humans, agents. The strongest vamps can animate the unrotted dead, zombies, which is no kind of fun while they last. Major strengths are physical — speed, translocation, magic, all variable by age and intrinsic or achieved power — and major vulnerabilities are sunlight, though the strongest can daywalk, staking through the heart, fire, decapitation. Almost all are out of it dawn to dusk. Being undead from Turning to final death, which fae call dismissal, vamps have wide immunities to disease and injury but cannot cross a true threshold without invitation. And what we would be doing is supporting a dubious but not insincere set of revolutionaries against a very centralised regime, so it’s familiar territory for your Office, sir.”

“Ouch.” I received a quizzical look. “Why did I ever manage to suppose I’d control any conversation with you, Ms Hauptman? No, don’t answer. But do tell me about the dubious vampires we’d be going to bat for.”

“Good question, sir. Simplest answer is that while I have several times been … forcibly involved in vamp politics with … significantly suboptimal results for the vamps responsible, those outcomes involved a vamp who has saved my life, as I have saved his unlife. At least one other of great potency is … not unhonourable. A third is a puzzle — a wizard vamp, the eldest surviving, whom one cannot safely recruit but do _not_ want to be _not_ on one’s side, and whom I strongly suspect of being coldly pragmatic about his own survival whenever vamps are outed, which he knows is inevitable. He is for my money one reason your words the other day triggered so much, as he was already playing for help in forcing reform. And beyond anything personal, Mr President, there is what I would, if I run, be running for, and against. If you haven’t, sir, which I doubt, do the math.”

“Huh. And to what sort of compliance could vampires be held?”

“No mind-games, feeding, or Turning without informed consent. Duty of care. Rule of law. But punishments would have to be … condign. _De facto_ , another separate but equal justice, of necessity — holding cells mean squat if you translocate, executions would have to be staking, immolation, decapitation, or exposure, life sentences are indefinite, and prisoners still need to be fed. _If_ it happens, powers among vampires will be onboard for enforcement, but there will be any number of questions, as and when.”

“Do I have serving vampires?”

“Not that I know of, sir, and as only the most powerful can daywalk, I doubt it. Ditto police and almost any regular job. Undeath means long-term compound interest, so salaries are unnecessary, but there’s a sharp financial gradient between newly Turned and their Makers.”

“Almost all outsiders, then, however plugged in. Citizens?”

“Pass. Many Turned here would have been so when alive, but can Undead be citizens, even if they still pay some taxes? Bunfight time.”

“And then some.”

“Or executive order time, putatively sustained.”

“Huh. Maybe. A mess, any which way, but I knew it would be, and the FBPA has a remit, even if they’re still grass-green.”

“Yes they do, sir. How unhappy will the Farouts be with me?”

He gave a half-grin. “SAC Fisher said that’s what you were calling the FBPA. Good one. And some may be unhappy, but more than the humans will be profoundly relieved to have someone on board who actually knows what they’re doing and has a track record pulling off human–preternatural cooperation.” The half-grin became a full one. “And it’ll do wonders for your campaign, Ms Hauptman, if it comes out you’re already dealing with half-a-dozen agencies and the Pentagon to nix another preternatural threat. But the sticker is citizenship, and though I’ll make no promises about non-citizens who didn’t follow the rules, I’ll say that if someone _was_ a citizen, and is still walking, they still are — full rights however we’ll need that separate but equal deal. And while I can’t control what courts might do, I can declare that by Executive Order, and you have my word I will.”

I didn’t try to conceal relief, and he nodded when I thanked him.

“That’s a good baseline, sir, but you said ‘didn’t follow the rules’. Which ones? Suppose a vamp had been a _bona fide_ undead citizen of Spain living in Spanish territory that got conquered or sold out from under him or her? Or French, or Texan? The distinction of hostile and co-operating is going to be a lot more important than technical citizen or alien.”

“Huh. We really are talking centuries old, then?”

“In some cases. Old mind-sets too, which can help or be a serious problem. Think Borgias with enough time to get even twistier.”

“I bet.” He shrugged. “So. They’re there, and we need to do something, but attempting genocide is not it. How do you see any of this working?”

“Carefully.” I took a very deep breath, glancing at sections of my grid. “Assuming I hit no impossible snags over the weekend, you could convene that meeting of anti-vamp commanders next week. Data package from us, including a prototype of the magic weapons, and timetable to be agreed. You and the AED co-ordinate joint ops. Then foreigners — ambassadors, most obviously, called in discreetly. How they handle it is their problem, but we’ll do what we can to advise, and may be able to do magic weapons all round. The point is to up the power of the next step, an ultimatum to Iacopo Bonarata, the one I called Sauron, Master of the Night and the nearest thing vamps have to a Marrok, which is not very. He gives orders and demands tribute, but doesn’t take responsibility. The ultimatum says vamps need to out themselves and comply with code, or be outed with full preternatural and human resources brought to bear, here and as many other places as can be managed. Then the clock starts ticking.”

Adam was not happy, but there was no other way I could live with.

“And somewhere in there I make public a possible candidacy. If the reaction warrants, and we’ll see, I announce — and that probably means a vamp assassination or kidnap attempt on me, maybe Adam or Jesse.”

“For real?”

Both the man and the AED had eyebrows high, but I shrugged.

“Probably. Killing the messenger is always popular, and more so when the message is bone-deep unwelcome. Assume it plays like that, and there could be two outcomes. If I’m dead, it’s not my problem. But if I survive, and the surviving is public, the trigger is pulled immediately. And if it doesn’t happen or I don’t run, the clock runs down and either we’re in dialogue or the trigger gets pulled anyway.”

“Un huh. And pulling it means?”

“Arrest warrants for non-compliant vamps. No use with translocators but they’re few. Did you have the bars of those odd cages analysed, AED?”

“Certainly, Ms Hauptman. Cores of tungsten and a very hard ceramic devised for the space programme.”

“And too strong for vamps to bend, or for us to cut.”

“I figured. So someone vanished them to get the captives out?”

“Yup, but that took wizardry, which for vamps is in short supply, though very potent when available.”

The Man came back in. “And what are these magic weapons? Just enhanced stakes of some kind?”

“No, sir. The main thing is wooden bullets to fit Glock 22s.” He blinked. “Lead has no effect, vamps being dead already. We have no guarantee a wooden heart shot with a slug as short as is necessary will work, but there are fair reasons to believe it would, especially as the bullets will be grown Underhill.” They all blinked. “No way of knowing until someone tries it, but even if it isn’t fatal a wooden heart shot or two should at the very least give any vamp pause. And the vast majority are in motionless fugue during daylight, so if a seethe or individual dwellings can be identified, which many could be, daylight raids would be safest, though agents or Renfields might resist. Serious holding facilities until compliance is promised, but there will be those who won’t, and what you do about that I have no idea _unless_ some of what I called revolutionaries are willing to enforce code.”

“Which they would do how?”

“The vamp equivalent of wolf dominance, with a threat of final death, and there will be some of that.”

“Which doesn’t bother you so much?”

“I actually like exactly one vamp, sir, and give one more a pass. I have personal and other reasons to dislike and fear them in general, and I’ve had to kill one to live more than once.” I took a breath. “I just dislike being complicit with ethnic cleansing a great deal more.”

There was a silence eventually broken by the AED.

“Knowing what we now know, Mr President, I would second that strongly. The citizenship issues are clearly going to be complex, but I can’t offhand see why a grant of naturalisation or … renewed citizenship could not be tied to acceptance of the code. Illegals would be liable to deportation. Ms Hauptman, a vampire would survive a coffined journey?”

“Surely, AED, if the coffin held them.”

“How strong are they?”

“Varies, but easily rip-a-human-arm-and-head-off strong.”

“Huh. Do tranquilisers work?”

“No circulation or respiration, so no. Tangling wire-cored netting might — anti-drone gear, maybe.” That was another thing I’d talked to Adam about. “Or boleros. And the really tough plastics, if you could get them on — there’s not much leverage to break a behind-the-back thumb-tie.” A thought clicked. “Plastic coffins could be plenty tough and moulded fast. Once they were closed you could inject one of those foams that sets hard to restrict movement and leverage. Vamps can’t suffocate, and I’d think only wizardry could beat that, which is rare, so you could just stack them though feeding is necessary — they can starve, though not to death.”

I got stares, though after a moment Adam also offered a thumbs-up.

“I won’t ask how you thought of all that, Ms Hauptman, but it sounds … surprisingly workable. Are vampires of European origin?”

“Pretty much, AED, so far as I know. All older ones I’ve seen have been white, but I have no idea about most of Asia or Africa.”

“Fair enough. Point is, Mr President, we have good extradition and deportation treaties with almost all European nations, so if we can show any given vampire to be an illegal from somewhere there, they’d have a hard time legally refusing to take them. But getting together the equipment and squads we’d need is a major exercise, and I can’t even guess at the timetable necessary.”

“No. Any thoughts, Ms Hauptman?”

It was number time. “Wolves know of forty-five seethes nationwide, each with not less than ten or twelve members, but rarely more than fifty, so far as we know, so we’re talking a few thousand split into job lots. A lot more human donors and agents, but that’s mundane law enforcement. Probably another few hundred who live outside seethes, plus loners scattered about, but that’s always going to be a long-term problem. Taking big seethes by daylight isn’t. I take the AED’s point, sir, but it shouldn’t take long to brief and crash-train forty-five strike teams comprising local SWAT and federal agents, plus Special Forces and preternatural support. We went with Glock 22s because lots of people have them, and if military equipment is available there ought to be things that would help.”

“Yeah. AED?”

“I’d forgotten how far ahead of the curve Ms Hauptman tends to be, Mr President, but where my first thought was months that sounds more like weeks if we jump on it.” He hesitated. “And I do _not_ mean myself, sir, but if you also give someone real tape-cutting and override authority.”

“Oh yeah. And you might not mean you, AED, but Ms Hauptman does.”

I met Westfield’s look before looking at the Man. “Not necessarily, sir. I don’t know enough about the relative ranks of those who’d be involved to know whom you need for this. But I and others would be glad if AED Westfield were in senior authority, because he has dealt well and fairly with the preternatural and understands keeping his oath in full while knowing when SOP just won’t work. And I’ll add two good reasons for whoever holds command to be civilian and, given the Farouts’ inexperience, FBI — Gwyn ap Lugh thinks better of them than of most humans, which will help considerably, and it would underline the rule of law for vamps _and_ humans dealing with them. You’ll need to make it clear in law unjustifiable dismissal is murder, however the victim was already dead and wherever they’re a citizen of.”

Westfield was back to staring, but after a moment the Man laughed, more wryly than not.

“So we will. At least it’ll keep the lawyers busy. Alright, Ms Hauptman, and yet more thanks — that’s another of your amazing but viable plans produced way faster than I expected. I don’t decide things like this without sleeping on them if I can, but let’s say I go with it, which I think I will, and you do run, which I think you will. Your position as an independent is going to be _really_ interesting in all sorts of ways, and some could be genuine legal or constitutional problems.”

“Tell me, sir. There’s nothing I can do about that, and however I may be involved in briefings I clearly should not hold any authority. But I will need to be able to get to whoever can trigger the response, and he or she would need to accept my word at once and do it.” The Man nodded. “For the financial side I have an end-run I’m pretty sure is legal, and I’ll be asking the FEC to audit so anything iffy can be stopped at once. But can you push for suspension of campaigning around the Cascadia evacuation?”

“Yes. I’d pretty much decided that was right anyway. Can’t stop candidates looking for photo ops, but with a high percentage of Congress having constituents either evacuating or hosting, the main parties will accept suspension of bigger events. Your end-run sounds interesting?”

“Un huh. Wait and see, sir.”

I got another grin. “Alright, Ms Hauptman, but _do_ avoid Fae contributions. Foreign money is not good in this.”

“No it isn’t, sir. But there is a gray area, full-blood fae resident Overhill who own property and pay taxes. Does dual citizenship under the Medicine Wolf Accords include the right to stand for election?”

“Citizenship is citizenship, Ms Hauptman, and citizens can stand. I’d expect a legal challenge, though.”

“Me too. Any chance a test-case could be expedited?”

“Maybe. There’d be a good argument delay was itself unconstitutional. You look pleased. Dare I ask who — or what — you are thinking about?”

“One idea was Irpa, in California’s 12th ward. She’s good with bridges.”

All three stared, then joined the Man’s explosive laughter.

“Oh _please_. I’d pay good money. Irpa holds property and pays taxes?”

“She’s lived in Haight-Ashbury a while. She can use glamour to appear human, of course, so her neighbours might be a tad surprised.”

“Might. You’re going to push for other independents in federal and state races, then? Wolves?”

“Yes and yes, sir. Anyone we can get, frankly. But if I get it right preternaturals will be only one element, though important.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” The man checked his watch. “Anything else you want to say or ask, Ms Hauptman?”

“Not that’s urgent, Mr President, but I’ll be talking to the Governor soon, and some of your WD-40 might be needed to unjam state legislatures who need to decide about re-emerging land along the Columbia, Snake, and Flathead, and low compensation paid back when. Lots of federal money and agencies involved in that.”

“Oh yeah. We’ve talked about that, with the job you’re doing managing the problem, so yes, I can do some leaning. I must go, but if any major uncertainties get cleared up, word would also be good.”

“I might be able to update Sunday evening, Mr President, not before.”

“Fair enough. AED, I’d like to speak later, please — call me before you log out. Farewell, Ms Hauptman. Regards to your husband and daughter.”

“Of course, sir.”

The Man’s screen blanked, but Westfield and Fisher stayed, with complicated expressions.

“AED?”

He shook his head, a little ruefully, I thought.

“Just remembering, Ms Hauptman. _Continues to surprise and impress_ still covers it. And while I take your point about _not_ giving you formal authority, your … imprimatur will matter to many, including the FBPA.” He smiled. “I do like Farouts. If it was anyone else there could be real resentment, but with you it’s more like the other shoe finally dropping.”

I didn’t like it but couldn’t argue, and shrugged. “If you say so, AED. And I have only a general sense of where they’re at, from wolves and First People who’ve signed up, but I’d think this could also … I won’t say blood, but temper them as an agency.”

“Yes. And human–wolf co-operation. Scent Forensics hasn’t hooked wolves to SWAT units as this would.”

“Un huh. We’re chary of SWAT requests, AED, as you’ll understand. Wolves may be fast, strong, and likely to survive lead, but it still hurts, badly, and we have no wish to be pigeonholed as default cavalry for routine law enforcement. SAR has linked us and Special Forces, though — that ghastly avalanche in Utah, for starters.”

It had demolished a resort hotel, mid-blizzard, but the Salt Lake City pack and an army base for mountain training had been nearby, and a very swift response that pragmatically accepted any able body, especially if it had wolf-strength, had rescued everyone who’d survived the impact. When TV news hit, a lone camera peering through the blizzard at the arc-lights, Irpa and Þorgerðr had turned-up by archway to pitch in with heavy-lifting, freeing wolves to carry rescued to the nearest point ambulances could reach. It generated a lot of goodwill, and Westfield nodded.

“I’m aware, Ms Hauptman, and understand your wariness about SWAT, but any precedent for co-operation in emergency is good, and will help deflect questions about, ah, the secrecy vampires have managed.”

“I doubt it, AED, but the facts are simple enough. Preternaturals won’t willingly out one another, and no-one was ready to take on vamps alone, even the Fae, though I gather they’ve come close — the Undead fundamentally offend them. And what’s happening now, besides Elder Spirits and avatars coming out and the Medicine Wolf Accords bearing fruit, is that a particularly bad vamp witch was confirmed finally dead, and if I’m right the next eldest wizard vamp has decided legality is worth thinning ranks, while continuing refusal to out themselves or undertake self-policing has made them a much bigger problem for everyone else.”

“Will you be saying that in public, Ms Hauptman?”

“Not the wizard, AED, but the rest, if I have to. And wolves have quite a history with vamps, as do avatars. We’ve both taken plenty of casualties over a long time, and wolves do a fair amount of policing on our own behalf. An individual wolf can fall prey to a strong vamp, but if it’s pack versus seethe the seethe loses fast unless the vamps have big magic or a lot of silver — wolf numbers, strength, and speed, used to the full because such fights are to the death.”

“Huh. Policing?”

“No doing things that start anti-preternatural pogroms, because they get aimed at wolves and half-fae, not the vamps responsible. Or else. And yeah, AED, it sometimes means making things disappear, about which I doubt we will be saying anything. As with the vamp amnesty, let sleeping dogs lie and file under qualified gratitude, if only because whatever PD might have had jurisdiction was spared a whole bunch of officers down.”

He wasn’t an AED for nothing.

“There is that, certainly, but if human corpses disappeared there will be … desolate families. Might a list of names be possible?”

“Beyond my stars, AED, and I do _not_ know such a list _could_ be compiled, but I’ll pass the question along. I can say that when Scent Forensics was agreed, vamps were told flat out that any wolf scenting one at a crime scene would _not_ plead the fifth on their behalf. So far it hasn’t happened, that anyone’s told me about.”

“Ah. Good to hear, MS Hauptman — I’ve been wondering. So vampires walk warily around wolves, as well as vice versa? And the Fae?”

“Yes and yes. A Gray Lord is in no danger, but lesser and half-fae are, and vamps can find them if they’re looking. I need to go, AED, but I’ll add that for the Fae it’s more vamp witches and wizards — few but potentially _very_ bad news, especially the witch now known to be dust.”

“So the Gray Lords are seizing an opportunity?”

“As far as I can tell. I’m doing my best to hold back preternaturals, AED. I wanted you in for all the reasons I gave, but also because you have to hold back humans.”

“So I gather. Knowing if you’re right about the … dubious reformers would be good, and sooner than later.”

“It’s on my list. But if I’m wrong about that eldest wizard, saying anything to any vamp could spark immediate violence, so you have to trust me on the timing.”

“Mmm. I have a very healthy respect for your timing, Ms Hauptman. And I must go also. My regards to Mr and Miss Hauptman. I expect we’ll speak soon, Leslie, but warm commendations on how well you handled this.”

Westfield cut the connection and Leslie shook her head.

“I earn my pay and then some when you’re about, Mercy, but it remains an education. And a privilege, even if I can’t tell Jude or Jenna whatall I’m doing. Anything you can tell me about the vampire situation here?”

“There’s a fair-sized seethe, and that may have to change, but I can’t say more yet, Leslie. Too many unknowns, too much at stake.”

“And security in the meanwhile?”

“Stay inside a threshold after dark. Don’t admit strangers, ever. I’m working on wooden daggers, and you’re in line. And as soon as we have wooden bullets, you get some. Until then a butane lighter on max is probably the cheapest defence. Or keep a stake handy.”

“It’s such a comfort when received wisdom is right. Do broken chair legs work?”

“If they’re wood.”

“You’ve seen it happen?”

“I have. Anything wooden works. Sharpened ends mean less strength is needed, because it has to be a heart shot.”

“Right.” I got another look from her repertoire. “The more I learn about you, Mercy, the stranger it all gets. Were vampires involved in the mess with Bennet?”

“Oh yeah. Whether he knew what he was dealing with is moot, but it was a vamp pulling his strings. That’s a lot of why we weren’t sure what Cantrip or other humans knew about vamps, until the Man, the AED, and whoever started putting pressure on us to come clean. And even then.”

“Huh. OK. That makes sense. Mutual uncertainties are never helpful. But now it’s all good to go.”

“Pretty much, Leslie. _We go, we go, we go to war To hew the stone and break the door._ More or, preferably, less. But I really do have to go.”

We exchanged farewells, and as I cut the connection Adam stood and the system buzzed to tell me Bran was calling. A tap put him on screen, with Charles and Anna, and Bran and I considered one another as Adam and Jesse came to stand behind me, resting hands on my shoulders.

“You were all listening in?”

“Certainly, Mercy. So was Gwyn ap Lugh, who agrees that was all excellently done. You realise you have little choice left now?”

“About vamps. Running will be the Great American Public’s choice.”

“As I said.” I stuck out my tongue, and Bran smiled. “Even so. And I received your message, so be assured I was aware of treading a fine line, not without good reason, and have a healthy fear of peanut butter.”

“Agyrobutyrophobia.”

“What?”

“Fear of peanut butter. You’re not alone, Bran. Just don’t ever put a wedge between me and Adam, or I will not be forgiving. I know I had my head in the sand, but it’s out now, and whatever else I am, I am pack.”

“You’re Alpha, love.” Adam’s voice was a comforting rumble. “Bran had to bypass me a little, but the reasons have … expired. And the other Alphas he has talked to are uniformly in favour, some more cautiously than others. I do appreciate the defence, though, and the bottom line.”

“As do I, Mercy. Very few threaten to hold me to account.” Bran sighed. “And Adam is right you have become very Alpha through your other powers, which is absurd and unprecedented but cannot be ignored. You will, however, have to demonstrate it, and I have warned all Alphas of a national meeting at short notice. It cannot be in Aspen Creek or Kennewick. Any strong preference?”

I shrugged. “Somewhere central, plainly. Not Chicago.” If only because Anna hated going back there. “St Louis? Denver?”

“Mmm. St Louis doesn’t have a big enough private property, but Denver does. It will double as an anti-vamp briefing also.”

That made sense. “Un huh. Anything to say, big brother?”

Charles looked at me impassively, eyes warm. “Only another attacoyote, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It.”

I’d already stuck out my tongue once, so I just gave him a fish-eye. “It still feels like being dropped in it myself, you know.”

“I bet, Mercy.” Anna sounded cheerful. “But it’s more good chaos. Lifting the burden of vamp policing will free a lot of resources we can use elsewhere. And spreading the age problem is another of your miracles.”

“Maybe. Warren liked it. And Bran, Warren coming out as born in 1776 could work _very_ well if he was campaigning for state senator.” Bran cocked his head, frowning. “I don’t know the other bicentenarians, but ask them about running for something too? Unarguable experience and patriotism, _and_ an unimpeachable reason for restricting interviews once elected.”

After a long moment Bran smiled widely. “Now _that_ is coyote-sneaky. I’ll think about it, Mercy. Let me know how tomorrow goes as soon as you can, please, and be aware, Adam, I may fly down Sunday to talk to ap Lugh and others. We’ve been clear, but in person will matter with the Fae.”

“Of course. Not a problem, Bran, so long as it’s afternoon.”

“It will be. Go and eat.”

Bran cut the connection, and I stood to find myself enveloped by Adam and Jesse.

“The Man and I were right that you can do this, Mom. You are being seriously awesome again.”

Jesse sounded earnest, if a little muffled by my shoulder, and I felt my heart lurch a little.

“Your mouth to God’s ear, ex-kiddo. But Bran was right about food. Let’s go.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Bringing the Freed Pack to Richland had been necessary, but had rolling consequences I hadn’t begun to foresee. The Freed wanted to stay together — the submissives needed one another, and the dominants wouldn’t leave them — but restriction to one city chafed, though they understood packs sharing space was at best iffy, and they weren’t at all impressed with a northern rain-shadow climate. Much more serious, though, was the combination of standout social isolation and distance from family, and as we’d had state and federal governments on board, the state pleased by positive publicity and the feds very aware of compensation owed, we’d been able to do something about that.

Though many Hanford staff had been reassigned within the area — we have _lots_ of government stuff round here — some moved on, so Richland had vacant alphabet properties, and besides the L- and T-houses off Duportail the Freed had pretty much been given, we managed to get the use of other Ts nearby for visiting families. There had been subsidies for those visits, and they had been fraught, as people at once joyous, worried, and angry had to cope with new realities, loved ones who were now and for ever moonbound packbound predators, largely invulnerable and seriously strong, and had packmates and an Alpha, loyalties cutting across blood- and kin-ties. Some Freed were young enough that restored parents expected obedience, and after Ramona had to back down a father who lost it Adam and I instituted a system of prior briefing. Coming to Kennewick gave us a chance to lodge explanations and post ground rules, while families saw wolves on four legs and demonstrations of strength and speed from those on two. Many still didn’t like it, but did mostly realise that shouting and waving arms around wasn’t going to work.

On the isolation, Ramona, Adam, and I had done some hard thinking. Richland was the least multicultural Tri-City, almost 90% Anglo at the last census, and the Freed were predominantly Hispanic and African-American ; they were young, and needed things to do. College would be an option once they’d settled and their time was their own, as would jobs, but meantime a common reluctance to be alone, treatment for PTSD, and need to be available to investigators, with calls as witnesses looming, had made any answer difficult. Nor had everyone in Richland been thrilled by their presence, human–wolf lines deepened by racial and religious ones, and Ramona opted to tackle that head-on.

Using the problem of press intrusion, paparazzi who tried everything from climbing trees to door-stepping with video already running, and pulling in Richland PD, she set up a patrol system for the blocks around the Pack’s houses. Trios of wolves, with one on four legs, walked circuits day and night, and as they didn’t hesitate to step in when it seemed necessary, whether to rescue cats from trees or chase any muggers, burglars, vandals, or worse they came across, first the local then wider Richland petty crime rates took a nosedive. Wolf hearing and scenting meant awareness of other problems too — schoolkids talking about things no-one should be up to, domestic violence, concealed rape — and where the police couldn’t act, Ramona often would. The gender, slightness, and youth of so many of her wolves meant men filled with self-righteous misogyny hopelessly underestimated them, while sight of, say, a teenage girl weighing less than a hundred pounds throwing two-hundred-plus of man and beer gut into a wall had its own happily rippling consequences. Richland became still more civilised, its appreciative PD developing close ties to the Freed, while a growing number of citizens acquired personal knowledge of wolf neighbours and reasons for grateful respect.

To undercut the paparazzi Ramona did a deal with Penny Ligatt and PBS for a reality show with plenty of human interest that respected the privacy of traumatised people receiving serious counselling, and tried hard to focus on real questions. Ramona and Bran had done a lot of productive arguing, between themselves and with other Alphas, and while any number of wolf matters did not get discussed on air, some did. Nudity made it tricky, but from the circumstances of their Changes and imprisonment the Freed did not expect privacy to change, so for the first time a very large audience saw people become wolves, and wolves become people. The severe pain involved was underlined, with the lack of choice at full moon — the moon not caring if it was your birthday, or a relative was ill, or there was a can’t-miss game. Because it was a major issue for so many Freed, the inability of female werewolves to carry to term also came out, with the built-in skew that left them the choices of adoption or surrogacy but allowed males to father humans on humans. Wolf age was still off the agenda, and Ligatt knew why, but swift if more painful healing was in there with things they were learning — making-up interrupted educations, but also scenting from me, citizens’ rights and duties from a state educator, and martial arts from Brent and several humans. Adam had insisted on the last, less for self-defence than to teach them their own strength and speed, and the impact on opponents. That it regularly showed off wolf toughness suited us too. To no-one’s surprise _Living Free and Moonbound_ was pulling PBS’s biggest audiences in years, and informing a great deal of helpful debate.

There was also a religious front. Most Freed were at least nominally Catholics, though three had been raised Baptist, but if the local padre in Richland made a few right noises, he’d been too scared and theologically ambivalent about the preternatural to offer much welcome. He’d also been offended by Ramona’s habit of saying _Virgen de los Lobos_ , and the Madonna with wolves on either side the father of one of the Freed had carved for her, so my Episcopalians had seen a chance and stepped in. Reverend Jackson had garnered heavy publicity conducting the _Interview for All Faiths_ with Medicine Wolf, and her congregation’s reasonable wariness had swiftly been overcome by the Freed, their ages, builds, and known experiences clearly calling for care and charity. My more cynical backbrain thought celebrity didn’t hurt, particularly when the Bishop made a trip from Spokane to welcome them and preach a very decent sermon about national shame and loving thy neighbour. The Episcopalian liturgy was strange to them, but had its own satisfying sense of ancient ritual, and the counselling they were receiving was substituting for confession, so it worked out well enough.

Everything shifted with the televised trial of Senator Heuter. Beyond the additional celebrity effect — and the Freed gave evidence over two weeks, so there was a _lot_ of screen-time — the flat accounts and elicited details turned everyone’s stomachs and when Heuter became the only federal senator ever to be convicted of mass murder and sentenced to death, his surviving victims, wolf and fae, entered the history books and became icons of a new kind. They also became very much wealthier.

With Wyoming verdicts filed it was impossible for Heuter’s remaining lawyers to defend him against the lawsuits Jenny filed against Cantrip, naming him specifically, on behalf of Adam, Jesse, and me, the Freed Pack, the Wyoming dead, their kin, and kin of the River Devil’s and Guayota’s victims for the distress caused by MacLandis’s malicious lies about them. The Federal Government had pleaded no contest, and with Heuter legally found to have commissioned, bankrolled, and facilitated Cantrip’s crimes his entire, multi-generational fortune was liable for compensation and punitive damages. The DC jury had a field day juggling numbers, and while for Adam, Jesse, and me there were good baselines, in actual costs of security and dealing with the global circus Cantrip had inflicted, as well as previous awards for kidnapping, assault with a deadly, and intimidation, with the Freed there were huge imponderables. Length of false imprisonment varied more than severity of treatment, but in all cases traumata were multiple, prolonged, and complex, not least as witnesses to others being tortured, raped, and murdered, _and_ there were forced Changes with life-changing consequences. The Freed argued against trying to quantify it individually, Ramona memorably pointing out that while being Changed had in some ways actually helped her with rape trauma she would not much care for any deductions on that score. It could have become an ugly crapshoot, but Jenny co-ordinated a joint submission about what we thought priorities, and a relieved judge and jury, with an eye on Heuter’s known fortune of seven billion and change, decided Adam, Jesse, and I should each get ten million, plus all claimed expenses, relatives of the 313 Wyoming dead ten million per victim, relatives of other dead fifty million between them, and the Freed, fae and wolf, a hundred million each.

It would take time to realise the value of Heuter’s portfolios and properties, but the Federal Government, as co-defendant, stepped in to underwrite awards in the interim, including those to fae, and the Freed Pack became a billionaire — which had more than Ramona scratching heads. I was still trying to explain being multi-millionaires to the earth fae, to Gwyn ap Lugh’s amusement, though I’d made sure Baba Yaga had the burden of financial oversight for them and the freed fae Underhill. For the Freed Pack Charles set up trust funds that gave everyone permanent security, as well as spending accounts, and they decided everyone should tithe ten million to a pack fund, and thereafter ignore the pack-fee system. Even more impressively, they made a joint statement to their many suddenly _very_ interested relatives about what they were and were not prepared to do. Mortgages would be paid, and school or college fees met, but consumer indulgence would _not_ be funded, nor new property — unless families cared to move to Richland, in which case the Feds were willing to offer good deals.

I’d gathered from an amused if exasperated Ramona that there had been a great deal of squawking, but even submissive wolves are hard for non-wolves to argue with, and wolves as alpha as Ramona have a low tolerance for histrionics. The result had been a slow but cumulative migration of families, giving Richland what amounted to a Latinx quarter with an African-American slice — though Episcopalian-leaning Latinx was confusing everyone and amusing Reverend Jenkins, who made herself a helpful as well as challenging local presence.

In Ramona’s case there was some bittersweet. She’d told me that night in Wyoming that most Freed weren’t much older than her own kids, and it turned out she had four — three sons between nineteen and twenty-five, and a fifteen-year-old daughter. Her marriage had been ‘necessary’, in the Boss’s terms, and not unhappy, but with the children mostly grown her husband drifted away and she’d been willing he should. Her disappearance meant the youngest had become his responsibility, and he’d moved back into the family home so she didn’t have to change schools. Ramona approved, but her integrity meant she agreed her daughter should stay put, though it was _not_ good for their phone bills. And though the two middle boys had migrated willingly, which made Ramona happy, the eldest — married with an infant daughter — had not, and from what I’d heard had the biggest problem with a mother showing herself thoroughly alpha and becoming a national heroine. It was lose-lose however anyone cut it, and though I’d have some things to say if I ever met him, as would Adam and Jesse, we had to be content with welcoming the middle sons and, on the weekends she visited, the daughter. Jesse had only had a few hours to bend Carmen’s ear, but set to with a will, and there was regular email and message traffic, involving Sally Willis and Jenna Fisher, that was answering all sorts of questions and soothing fears.

The Freed wanted their kin working, even if regular employment was tricky for themselves, and besides small shops and restaurants that sprang up, helped by mayoral and PD grease, Ramona had — after encountering miracle pies — been inspired to seek out Benny and persuade him to open a second outlet in Richland offering inside and delivery jobs preferentially to those she and hers would vouch for. As Benny’s had become sufficiently famous he’d been at full stretch for months he’d leapt at the deal, and Richland now boasted not only _much_ faster delivery of miracle pies but a large and cheerful eat-in pizzeria doing a roaring trade. It was finding an interesting balance between preternatural-friendly and open to all, attracting the open-minded on all sides and paying enough taxes that Richland and the state were warmly grateful.

The purchase of hunting land had taken longer, and even with the additional land Adam and I had bought to secure our own tract the strains of two packs hunting the same area every full moon had been sufficient I’d asked the Man for some WD-40 in the works, and he’d come through. Ramona had purchased three hybrid SUVs for use by whoever, and an ElDorado sixty-seater coach that ran on a hydrogen fuel cell for pack and family outings. She, Hector Martinez, and three others had passed the driving tests, more good publicity on PBS, so Saturday morning, with everyone heading towards Rimrock, all Adam, Jesse, and I had to do was make a call, pile with Brent into the Grand Cherokee while Darryl, Warren, and Ben took a Range Rover, slide west on 392 to I82, and slow at the interchange so Ramona could tuck the ElDorado in behind us.

If you want hunting land for wolf-packs on the Columbia Plateau you need out of the rain-shadow, which from the Tri-Cities means the Cascades. It was a sunny day with some high cloud, and as Adam was driving, and Brent and Jesse entertaining one another trashing boy bands, I was happy to appreciate the view. Between Prosser and Yakima I82 ran through irrigated fields, but once we’d turned onto 12 for Naches and swung west for Rimrock we were back in scrub until we started climbing, pine, larch, hemlock, and fir began to thicken, and I wound down the window to enjoy the smell of mountains.

The Freed’s land was north of Rimrock Lake, and though still quite dry, with a lot of clearings among the trees, it was a completely different ecosystem and excellent wolf country. Coyote country, too. When we pulled into the carpark at John Russel Ranch Jim Alvin and a delegation of Yakama elders, with some younger men and women, were waiting in full tribal fig, because Penny Ligatt and crew were along to catch the Freed Pack discovering its new land. Spare seats had been filled with family, mostly children wanting a day out, with teens and adults toting picnic baskets, so there was a lot of disembarking and sorting out, but once the pack was all out, Jesse and Brent standing safely off camera, Ramona set things in motion and for a while we went quite formal.

I didn’t have the cloak, but had brought Thunderbird’s feather as well as Manannán’s Bane, and made introductions. It was good publicity for Yakama and First People as well as wolves to be seen to be mutually respectful, elders warmly welcoming the pack to land adjoining their reservation, pack agreeing to mind the boundary, and everyone happy with what they would take care to do, and not do, as visiting apex predators. We acquired an audience from the campsite, all agog when the Freed, with Warren and Ben, disappeared behind a screen the Yakama had provided to change. Penny came to collar me and Adam, and grabbing opportunity we towed her over to the gawkers, explaining what was happening, and once wolves began to emerge made a point of introducing them, especially to children. The wolves got to register scent, look good, and make nice, and once gawkers got over their nerves they felt the thrill, far more vital than celebrity, of being close to powerful animals that were not harming you because they chose not to.

And the Freed did look good. The gauntness they all had when rescued had filled out, silver was gone from lungs, fitness was way up, coats glossy, and tails briskly mobile. Quite a few were distinctly larger, a phenomenon Bran was watching closely because the rules meant humans who hadn’t finished growing weren’t Changed, so it wasn’t one he’d seen much since Charles was small. It was more pronounced in males, wolf chests filling out as human ones did, but there was a slight general enlargement, and Charles and Darryl had been correlating human and wolf weights with fascinated puzzlement, sharing data with other mathematically-minded wolves to see if anyone could find a rule of proportionality. No-one had, save that it was probably exponential, but it made the Freed Pack increasingly formidable, while the high percentage of submissives kept it unusually calm.

They didn’t do close formation any more than other packs, but had that shared awareness and instinctive co-operation that meant for all the swirling there was no jostling, wolves flowing into spaces that opened up and opening other spaces to be filled. Adam and I gave sound bites, explaining what most pleased us and the Freed about regained health and growth, and the importance of dialogue with First People. When the last wolf was ready, and Ramona, Darryl and Warren trotting beside her, led the pack towards the road, I had to laugh because after a firm glance at both her pack’s kin and camping children Ramona ostentatiously stopped at the verge to look both ways, cocking her head, before bounding across to leap the further bank and disappear among trees. I could feel Warren’s amusement as he copied her, and all followed suit. I pointed out to the children that even wolves obeyed that code, because being hit by cars _really_ hurt, and once Penny had wrapped she gave me a grin.

“You don’t miss a trick, Mercy. Nor Ramona. It’ll be a great segment, and we could turn it into a Safety Drill film kids would love.”

The state would like it too — Washington had one of the lowest figures for road deaths per million inhabitants, and Montana the highest, so there were regional bragging rights at stake — and I gave a thumbs-up.

“Good thought, Penny. Check with Ramona, but I’d be happy with that. And using preternaturals for that kind of thing is worth thinking about.” Penny looked thoughtful, and I wondered how wrong it was to think it could become a policy. Maybe Stefan could do dental hygiene and flossing by way of giving vamps better PR. “All well with you?”

“Can’t complain. Becoming a PBS poster-girl is more fun than not, I have a professional reason for regular contact with Benny’s pies, and I’m working off the extra calories.”

Adam, who liked her as much as I did, gave her a grin. “You can add wolf poster-girl, too. Alphas are very happy with the show.”

“Glad to be so, Adam. It feels important work, and having that _and_ audience figures is pleasing. I’ve had kind words from many quarters.”

“Rightly.”

She nodded, curiosity in her eyes. “Thanks. I was surprised when Ramona told me you were both coming today.”

I shrugged. “Birds and stones. Even wolves prefer a guide in a strange place, so some Columbia Basin Pack were always coming first time, Adam, Jesse, and I can all do with a day in the sun, and Yakama elders and I need to talk land issues and giving the state legislature a prod.”

“Huh. You’re getting impatient with them?”

“Increasingly. We need clarity sooner than later about Celilo Falls.”

“That I get. And I look forward to you prodding anything governmental, so I’ll watch that space. Why do I still feel like I’m missing something?”

“Couldn’t say, Penny. If there were anything else, might be I’ll be in touch soon, but not today. And we need to get going, as we’re on two legs.”

She looked after us, calculation joining curiosity, but wouldn’t push, yet, one reason we’d come to trust her. The younger Yakama recruited older children to shift boxes of wolves’ clothes into the ElDorado’s vault, and the woman in charge, Selene Lewis, pulled in camping families, for lessons in safe outdoor cooking. Hampers were unpacked, and with good if sometimes mutually baffled multiculturalism going on Adam and I were free to collect Jesse and Brent, join Jim and the waiting elders, who’d shed finery to reveal proper hiking gear, and head up the mountain.

Dan Strongbear, Ed Selmuit, and Riva Lewis — Selene’s mother — were all over seventy, and I was as always struck by their undiminished ease in climbing. I was relishing being on a mountainside, as Adam was ; Jesse too, but she had less breath, so conversation shifted into business.

“Say Celilo Falls gets sacred status, with acceptable tourist access. I don’t think that will be a problem, but the compensation paid is, however inadequate. So how about, the ruling is that anyone who owned land for which they or an ancestor received compensation has first dibs — direct descent, then sibling and cousin — but half the compensation must be refunded. And the state or Feds offer long-term, low-interest loans as necessary. The strongest claims would be met, most land would revert to the pre-dam status quo, and no-one with a dominant claim who really _wanted_ the land, enough to work for it, would be denied.”

Dan waggled a hand behind him, where I could see it.

“The ruling, sure, Mercy. That sounds smart, if the state or Feds will play ball, and I trust you to wrangle them. But with Celilo Falls ‘acceptable tourist access’ is … I won’t say none, because we have to sup with the devil, but as few as possible.”

“Agreed.” Riva was behind me. “I like the ruling, Mercy. Dan’s right it’s smart, and you’re right it would work. But Celilo Falls … _that_ wrong cuts deep, and there’s plenty of living memory.”

“OK.” There were times when a spirit of compromise just meant incremental destruction all over again. “I doubt no tourist access at all will fly, but … say, nothing for a year and a day, rededication being necessary, then a mid-distance viewpoint that can be restricted during … ceremonies. But you do allow preternatural access. I can’t make Celilo Falls what it was as the spiritual centre of the Yakama Nation, we don’t yet know how the reborn falls will be, despite that sonar map, and I can’t make Anglos respect them as they should, but if it were a place where Elder Spirits, avatars, Medicine Wolf, wolves, and fae could meet as necessary or desired, to thrash something out or say hi, how are you doing … ?”

Dan turned to climb backwards, looking at me hard, but turned back before he spoke.

“How mid- is mid-distance?”

“Just enough to get a photo, say they’ve seen. I know, but so do you.”

He grunted, and Riva laughed.

“We all do, Mercy. But you mean being a place of preternatural meeting would give sacred-space exclusion some real juice?”

“Yes. Right result, even if for the wrong reasons.”

“I don’t know they’re wrong, Mercy.” Ed was behind Riva, with Jim. “Dan, a meeting place for spirits and community is what Celilo Falls were, as well as excellent fishing and the river’s song. Why shouldn’t they get back to being it? And we’d not turn Medicine Wolf away even if we could, so why refuse wolves or fae?”

“Who have done a lot for us.” Riva sounded reflective. “Pretty much everything good in the last few years has been Mercy’s work one way and another, from killing the River Devil to having a re-emerging land problem to chew on. Edythe has also been helpful with that campground in the gorge. Elder Spirits favour Mercy, and Medicine Wolf chose her. That plan sounds good to me. At Celilo Falls all preternaturals and First People meet in peace. Pipes optional, peace not.”

I laughed, as others did.

“That’ll have some traction.”

Dan’s back was stiff, but he was the most conservative and detested cameras, though he’d sucked up Penny. Mirrors were bad too, and CDs and cell phones, but you didn’t wield Yakama power without being a realist.

“Maybe. I am not unappreciative, Mercy, but let us hear what the Elder Spirits have to say.”

With an eyeroll at Riva, who grinned, I dropped back to join Jesse, pointing things out as we climbed — vine maple, snowberries, and oceanspray in the sparse understory, and a pair of red crossbills, the male a gorgeous orange and his mate mixing green and yellow, attracted by some Douglas firs taking a chance at lower elevation. We were below the limit of glaciation, but there was geology to notice as well. High on the slope, in thicker woodland, I scented a fairly fresh kill — deer by cougar — but said nothing. The slope topped out eight hundred feet above the lake, and we came over the ridgeline into a wide, slightly bowled plateau from which a further rise climbed towards Ironstone Mountain. The trees were denser, firs predominating, and Dan, Ed, Riva, and Jim all went into quiet-footed forest mode, slipping through trees, while Adam and Brent let their wolves ascend to enjoy the scenery and became wolf-quiet. Jesse was never going to be a woodswoman in the way my coyote made me, but liked wilderness, and I spoke softly about how I placed my feet, and what I could see, smell, and hear. It pleased us both, and made Adam very happy, because Christy couldn’t tell a ponderosa from a pignut, wouldn’t be caught dead in a forest anyway, and wouldn’t have spent any time at all teaching Jesse anything. Jesse got it, footfall quieter even in Timberlands, and only a few moments after I’d picked it up her head turned, nose wrinkling.

“Is that smoke?”

“Yup. Well-spotted. There are venison steaks and sausages in there, so it’s a campfire and lunch.”

Jesse looked dubious, but as we followed the scents food smells strengthened, and dodging around the tangle of a fallen pine we came out into a beautiful small clearing by Wildcat Creek. A traditional circle of river stones contained the fire, but the tripod and camp-cooking kit it supported, steaks and sausages sizzling nicely, were distinctly high-end, and so were the cooks. Gordon was turning sausages, and Coyote looked up from a loaf he was slicing.

“There you all are at last. Good timing, because I’m hungry.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

I had a hard time not laughing at Dan’s expression, because he tended to solemnity with Elder Spirits and did not approve of the breezy informality my not-exactly father had adopted when he came out to humans. Nor did he approve when Jesse and I gave Coyote kin-kisses of welcome, she called him Gramps, and offered Gordon a high-five that made him grin.

“Greetings, Jesse. And what’s my favourite coyote-girl up to now?”

“All sorts, Gordon. I can promise you won’t be bored.”

“Boring you’re not, but it’d better be good. This was short notice.”

“Yeah. Sorry, but things started moving fast. Who else is here?”

Even as I asked Wolf came out of the trees shifting to human form, wearing fancy imported Rohan gear and Timberland Tenmile Chukkas, and a rapidly approaching splashing announced Bear, using Wildcat Creek for ease of passage. Climbing onto the bank he became human, and I was interested that while he’d gone male again he was looking less ancient than when we’d first met, though he still wore the same pale, plain leathers. Raven flew in, and after we’d done greetings Coyote and Gordon started serving steak and sausage sandwiches. They were good, with that zing campfire food has, and once I’d taken the edge off I gave Wolf a look.

“Is that Rohan gear as good as they say?”

“It is, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. Engineered clothing is one of the few things Anglos have seriously got right. Boots are good too.”

“And the cooking kit?”

“Certainly.” He gave a predatory grin. “Traditional is fine, but why ignore superior design when available? Especially as young Calvin packed it in for us, and will clean it and pack it out again.”

“Calvin’s here?”

Wolf nodded sideways, and I turned to see Calvin Seeker, Gordon’s sort-of grandson, emerging from trees on the far side of the creek with deadwood and a sack of pinecones. With a ‘shame on you’ that amused them I went to help him get his load across without soaking boots and trousers., and made sure he was seated with food before reclaiming my own. Jim gave me a wry look.

“Fetching and carrying is what apprentices traditionally do, Mercy.”

“And growing men need their food, Jim. Any of this lot could have packed in cooking kit.”

Gordon gave me a look too. “It’s good for him, Mercy. Elder Spirits are not porters. Anyway, why are we here?”

I let the joshing go. “Because I have a big question with a lot of ramifications. But there’s a thing I’d better deal with first, or Dan will sulk, and in any case decisions about it have some relevance to the other.”

All Elder Spirits gave Dan a look he wasn’t so keen on, and Bear narrowed his eyes.

“Something about Celilo Falls, then.”

“Yup. They should re-appear in another two or three months, so the foot-dragging has to stop.”

I laid out my thinking about a ruling on re-emergent land, and Celilo Falls as a place where wider preternatural meeting could support a sacred-space exclusion. There was I84, the rail bridge, and on the Washington side Wishram, which had a non-Amerindian minority, but Celilo Village could be included They thought about it, and Raven cocked his head.

“That sounds better than not, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. It’s another good deal. What is Dan Strongbear’s problem?”

“Dan?”

“Public access, Elder One. How can it be a sacred space with Anglo tourists using cameras and wandering in anyway?”

Raven shook his head and Coyote shrugged.

“And how should we stop them? We’re getting the Falls back. Tourists are a small price. We might be able to get some children with teeth in to scare off sign-ignorers, though, if there’s a hunting ban.”

Bear nodded. “That might be good. But though I cannot see it as a deal-breaker, I understand why Dan is unhappy. She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, when we all met at your house to talk that time, I remember you asking Gray Lords who could fog photographs not to do so. Is there any chance we could get some of that magic so Celilo Falls cannot be stolen in image?”

I blinked. “Well, there’s an idea. I don’t know, Bear. Many fae can do that, so I’ve always thought it’s an optional effect of their glamour — whatever the illusion to human eyes the camera doesn’t catch, but it prevents whatever’s behind the glamour being seen. Walla Walla is utterly glamoured, and nothing within shows up on satellite imagery. But I have no idea if the effect can be given, and if it can, you asked, and they did, the Gray Lords would count it as a debt, so you need to be very clear on what you could do to discharge it.”

Wolf nodded. “Surely. But we might at least find out. Ask ap Lugh about it?”

“Can do. We’re due to meet tomorrow, about the other thing. Any idea what you might be able to offer in trade?”

He shrugged. “What would Gray Lords want of us?”

“How should I know?” I turned ideas. “But flipping it might work. Suppose Elder Spirits are collectively enforcing an exclusion zone around the Falls. Sacred space, so trespassers will be eaten, and all that.” Coyote grinned. “Four-legged and winged children, of each kind, in a small but oddly biodiverse area? It would make the point forcefully, and play well with humans. So you say to the Gray Lords, hey, we’re setting this up for ourselves, and we’ve done a deal with wolves, who’ll be welcome, so we wondered if you’d like in, as a safe zone for preternatural meetings of use to all. You’d be welcome, and some of that camera-fogging magic of yours would be sufficiently useful to us there’d be no debts either way.”

Elder Spirits laughed, and Coyote wagged an admiring finger.

“Now that’s my exactly daughter. Animals always came to the Falls, because spray made for lusher vegetation, so having some in residence shouldn’t be hard. And if there were rattlers as well as cougars and a grizzly or two, everything on two legs would need to step carefully. What’s our deal with wolves, though?”

“Mmm.” My brain was turning faster. “Security? Adam could do, at cost plus a fraction, fencing with CCTV. But remember what Medicine Wolf did with Earth Fae Falls? I bet it could arrange irrigation around Celilo Falls, so we could go for a genuinely lush environment, which would pull animals in anyway. And remembering those oaks that turned up on Adam’s and my land, I could relay to ap Lugh that if other Underhill trees would like some space to grow and fruit, they’d be welcome around the Falls. and if they brought enough glamour to be unphotographable, so much the better.”

Bear nodded sharply. “Yes, that sounds good. And we would far rather owe you a debt than Gray Lords. We owe you already. Dan Strongbear, are you content with this? I cannot see She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars could do more, and she has already won us back the Falls and a promise they belong to the Yakama, even if we are still waiting on details.”

“I will try to be, Elder One.”

“Succeed. Being a curmudgeon is unhelpful. So what’s the other thing?”

“Big.” I took a breath. “And no offence, anyone, but this remains strictly confidential until it isn’t. You know Jesse set up that joke hashtag _#MercyForPresident_ , and it’s stayed popular? Well, it turns out some powerful beings really do want me to run, including the Man, who offers his endorsement, Medicine Wolf, the Marrok, and the Gray Lords.”

Coyote whistled. “The Man would endorse you? We could have a coyote president?”

I gave him a daughterly glare. “Maybe, and won’t that be fun all round? But I have _not_ decided, yet, not least because a major reason the Marrok and Gray Lords are on board is that they’re under high-level human pressure to come clean about any other major preternatural that might be lurking. Bran at least also worked out that if I were to run I could not ignore that question, and would have to do something about vamps.”

This time Raven whistled, and they all had narrowed eyes.

“Doing things about vampires hasn’t worked out so well before.”

“No. But if this time happens, and it’s probably unstoppable, those already in include wolves, Fae, and Feds. The basic idea is a deadline for vamps to out themselves and agree to a Code of Conduct about feeding, mind-games, and Turning, or face concerted action, meaning daylight SWAT raids on seethes with wolf and Fae support. Underhill has offered to grow wooden bullets we hope would work, and with all but translocators and wizards or witches we can restrain and confine — maybe those bars Cantrip used, however distasteful, or high-tensile plastic ties or coffins. Medicine Wolf is only relevant in the Basin, and doesn’t seem offended by undeath as fae and First People are, but really disapproves of vamps’ mind-games and is all for enforced reform. In a nutshell, humans supply numbers, restraints, and where appropriate deportations, preternaturals supply intel and advice, plus magical support and weapons, and it happens soon because it has to be dealt with and public before campaigning gets too far along. But there is, surprise, a complication, besides my conflicted feelings about Stefan Uccello and even Thomas Hao, which is Wulfe the Sorcerer, because unless I’m hallucinating he’s sort-of onboard himself.”

I explained the remark he’d dropped in ap Lugh’s and Nemane’s ears, with what I knew about She of Livorno, Wulfe’s improving treatment of sheep, and the opportunity I thought Gray Lords and Wulfe, in different ways, had seen. They all became intent, Jim’s and the elders’ eyes almost as wide as Calvin’s.

“When I know the wolf–Fae–manitou–human anti-vamp alliance is set to go, which will be this coming week, I’ll talk very privately to Stefan, and see if I can get a bead on Wulfe. Given vamp politics I’d usually bet he’d stay very shadowy until it was all over, but as the whole point is outing them, who knows? So, besides Adam and me ramping up security, there are two intersecting questions for Elder Spirits and Yakama, broadening to all First People. One is my putative candidacy, which would not only make for a first coyote president, but a first woman and Native American — except I’m only half-Blackfeet and coyote, the other half being Anglo. And I’m Christian. But I couldn’t not be a self-identified Native American as a candidate, so how many noses would that put out of joint, and what if anything can I do about it? More generally, what does a presidentially campaigning First Person do differently? Stump speeches on this or that res don’t seem likely to cut it, and no offence, Dan, Ed, Riva, but neither do Tribal Council races offer a model I’d care to follow.”

As a fair amount of mud was slung and any amount of sorrowful tactical denunciation par for the course, I got weak grins.

“And the vamp thing. I can’t see SWAT teams need avatars, but Gordon, Raven, and for Owl and Hawk, aerial searching for vamp houses might be critical in making it all stick, and if that’s on we’ll need to let it be known when we issue the ultimatum to the Master of the Night. Put your house in order, and out yourselves soon, or you will be outed and face an alliance of _everyone_. What happens in other countries will be their business, but they’ll all get high-level warnings and intel, and I’ll press for Canadian and Mexican involvement so US vamps have no easy way out — which is another way First People could help, reaching across national borders. But that means increased risk for everyone, because there will be vamps who decide to go down fighting. Reactions, anyone?”

Gordon grunted. “You were right we wouldn’t be bored. And I doubt your Anglo half matters much to most First People. They grumble about you but don’t disrespect what you’re achieving, quite the opposite, and were as impressed as everyone last year. Being Charles Cornick’s brother doesn’t hurt. They also know we and Medicine Wolf back you. As to campaigning, ask your pesky father — that’s more his line of work. But vampires, now, when we’re already busy …”

“Not too busy to get rid of them if we can.”

Wolf’s voice was sharp, and I jumped back in.

“Not get rid of, Wolf. Force to reform. I will _not_ back ethnic cleansing, nor should any First Person. The only good vampire is a dead vampire makes no sense, the allusion is obscene, and I’ve already backed Nemane down on this one.”

His eyebrows rose, and Coyote gave another grin, but Bear, Dan, and Riva all nodded sharply.

“She is right, Wolf.” Bear’s voice deepened. “Shape up or leave is one thing, aiming to eradicate another. We are not Anglos to kill whole kinds.”

Wolf nodded, a little reluctantly. “Yes, alright, however they are all dead already. But if wolves, Fae, and humans are going to do this, surely we and avatars can search for vampire houses? My children and Bear’s and Coyote’s can do rural if the fliers can do urban.”

Raven nodded. “Maybe. It sounds sensible. Owl and Hawk will be interested and making the Undead behave better is a good thought.” He shook his head. “You were right about her full name, Coyote, but I think I do not mind being dropped in this one, taken all together. An avatar president could get a _lot_ done that we want.”

“Yes, if it happens, I could and would. But there will be any number of things any number of First People decide they want that will not be possible. Some sitting on wilder or woollier demands will be needed.”

“I’ll say, Mercy. You running for president would be electrifying news.”

“Enough for an army of disciplined campaign volunteers, Riva?”

“Huh. For some value of disciplined, maybe.”

“And what about other First People running for something?” I briskly laid out what I hoped to do about generating finance and independent candidates from all over. “I know it’ll be an insane mess, but there would be a core manifesto they’d have to pledge to support.” I counted on my fingers. “Constitutional amendments to change oaths of office to include upholding the Medicine Wolf Accords, guarantee rights of preternatural citizens, and gender equality. Green policies everywhere. Better representation of First People — which means more First People standing up to do some representing. A drugs policy that actually makes sense and stands a chance of working, meaning some federal legalisation to push states who haven’t yet shifted policy. And, though I’m still thinking details through, and it’s risky, acceptance of the need for better gun control, meaning in the first place no automatic weapons and more stringent licensing checks. And to go with that, more serious holding of gun-users to account, including law enforcement. Probably something on education too. But beyond that, if a bunch of independents are elected to Congress and state legislatures, what is it they want doing, and can they persuade enough other people it’s a good idea?”

Human eyes were wide again, but Coyote was just grinning.

“This is going to be so much fun, rapidly converging daughter. I told you you knew what to do with a lot of spotlight.” He looked at his peers. “And really, whatever the details, isn’t the whole thing a no-brainer? Just think of who else is standing, and what a really spectacular inauguration we could have. Reforming bloodsuckers is a reach, I grant, even for She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, but they’ve never faced the kind of unified threat she’s proposing, so even without the rest we should do it just to see if it works. Sure, there’ll be casualties, but we’re taking those anyway and we’d be saving lives in the long run. Lots of them. Does anyone really disagree?”

They didn’t seem to, but were all still thinking. I had eyes elsewhere.

“Calvin? As the youngest voter here, anything to say?”

He blinked. “I’m not registered, Mercy. Never liked anyone standing enough to bother. But I will be.”

“Because?”

He shrugged. “You. You get things done, and any fool knows you’re as brave as people come, and as sneaky. Jim said it — you pushed the world, and it moved. And you’ve been looking out for us all ever since, with the Columbia and Cascadia projects, tourism, and the Freed. Sounds to me like you still are, and how.”

“Huh. Thanks. If this happens, get people registering? If you’re good with that, Jim? I’ll be talking to the governor soon, and Oregon, about land and Falls, and I’ll push a major registration drive for First People.”

“For all people, Mom.” Jesse had been quiet, but sounded very clear. “Remember your Hunter Thompson lesson? I can and will kick the school about pushing pre-registration, but Mary Oliver was talking about a statewide drive, and that’s something kiddos could help with.”

Adam looked proud, and nodded.

“Sounds good, Jesse. Dan, Ed, Riva?”

Dan shrugged. “I may be a curmudgeon, Mercy, and very wary of vampires, but what’s not to like? On what you have said you will have my vote, and pretty much every Yakama’s. Other tribes’ too, if they have the least sense. Putting a coyote in the White House is asking for any amount of trouble, but it would be much more interesting trouble than anyone else would cause. And if you can truly find a way to make Celilo Falls a sacred space Anglos respect, you will be due our lasting gratitude.”

“Yup.” Riva had a strange smile. “And I am already thinking of ways we can use this to push things most know will help but some stymie.”

“I agree.” Ed was also smiling. “It’s not at all what I was expecting, and vamps are a big concern, but I’m all for it. The risk for you, though, Mercy, and for Adam and Jesse, will be the highest.”

“So they will. What are you doing about that, electable daughter? Having you killed by vamps half-way through would not be at all helpful.”

“Tell me. And it’s in hand, though a high risk remains. Nothing I can do about that. Then again, any defences or warning systems any of you can put in place around the house or me and Jesse would be welcome. Medicine Wolf and the earth fae are on alert.” I took another breath. “But that brings up something I’ve tried to ask several times, and I’ll need to be honest about if I’m campaigning. Vamps and accidents aside, how long should Adam, Jesse, and I expect me to live?”

Coyote shrugged. “As long as you stay alive. Avatars tend to run into things, and you more than most.”

“Yeah, sure, but in a safe environment, when would I die of old age?”

“Who knows? The oldest living avatar is” — he cocked his head at Gordon — “two thousand and … ”

“Twenty-three-hundred-and-forty- … four, I believe.” Gordon also shrugged. “She’s been very lucky more times than I can count. In your own way, Mercy, you walk in both worlds. Avatars do. It is why you can change so fast. You will age, as werewolves do not, though more slowly than humans — Gary Laughingdog is a hundred and fifty plus — but you will not die until someone or something kills you. You will say this in public?”

I was still absorbing it, feeling hollow, and holding Adam’s and Jesse’s hands almost as hard as they were holding mine.

“I’ll have to, Gordon. Someone will ask, and I cannot lie when I answer.”

Coyote shrugged. “So you’ll be the first immortal president as well as the first coyote, woman, and Native American. So what?”

“So quite a lot. It’s a wolf problem, mostly, because we’re going to have to come clean about wolves not dying unless they’re killed, and when we do what will lots of humans decide they want to become? It’s only a side-benefit, not a motive, but when vamps are outed their endless undeadness will be outed with them. And now I need to think about where I and other avatars will fit with that, because if I’m out as qualified immortal, so are they. Warren will be doing something on the Wild West and putting Buffalo Calf Road Woman back in collective memory, but if there are avatars who met famous people or were part of historic events having them talking would certainly be helpful and might be necessary.”

“Spreading the load makes sense.” Coyote was actually frowning. “And you’re right many humans will want to become wolves or bloodsuckers for longevity.” He brightened. “You should set them three impossible tasks before they can ask. Maybe the Fae could help with that.”

Adam half-laughed. “If only. We will be putting people off asking to be Changed every way we can, but there will be those who resent our refusal. And as Mercy is right she will have to be honest about this, there will be idiots who think they can somehow be made into avatars, and come asking.” He raised my hand to kiss it. “It’s another downside, though I can’t say I have the least regret.”

Bear rolled eyes. “We are warned. But there have always been idiots, and they’ll have to find us before they can ask. I’m not so sure about avatars speaking out, though. They don’t like remembering the far past for the same reason old wolves don’t — they’ve lost too much.”

I’d expected that, but shrugged. “Even so, Bear. I doubt the oldest wolves will be speaking, but bicentenarians and below will have to. After initial publicity, we’re hoping to make it more historians than journalists, and if I am elected, God help me, one good thing would be rewriting history books to restore the Native American perspective.”

I was surprised when Wolf emphatically agreed, and others were thoughtful enough I asked them if they could, please, discuss it with avatars, ask their peers to do the same, and try to believe I was dropping them in it again productively. Then I went on to timing, the proposed council in the coming week, ultimatum to follow, with my steps to see if I was going to run. Elder Spirits didn’t do diaries, but agreed they could come collectively to Kennewick when asked, and we were mostly done.

“So that leaves one more thing, daddy dearest.”

“Which is, dangerous-sounding daughter?”

I grinned. “Campaigning. Gordon said it was more your line of work, and as I’m looking to change the rules on everyone, he’s right. One wrong move could blow it, and they’ll be plenty of chaos, but _good_ jokes could play very well. And as I’m going to be insanely busy, there is also wrangling First People, while you’re in almost every tribe’s stories …”

“True.” He looked more interested than offended. “Maybe I should run for something — I must have paid some tax somewhere sometime.”

“That seems unlikely, and not being born in the USA is a bar. I dunno if being reborn here would count, though the legal arguments would be entertaining.” He looked even more interested and I went on swiftly. “Anyway, what job could you run for that wouldn’t bore you silly in five minutes? Spokescoyote at large will be much more useful. But you and Jim might sit down and do some hard thinking about what would be good — you to propose stuff, and Jim to judge human reactions.”

Coyote and Jim were both giving me fish-eyes, but Gordon was grinning and others were amused, eyes glinting.

“Just like during the negotiations, when you promised Jesse you wouldn’t mess with them, just lighten the tone now and again with a salt of laughter. If it all gets so far, there’ll be national TV debates, and any number of reporters wanting to interview the pretty-much father of the person stirring things up. I can’t offer it as a bribe, because I’d do it anyway, but bison will be a priority, and if there is _anything_ that can practically be done to reduce that figure of 90,000 coyotes shot each year, I’ll do it. So think sideways, please. Do we want an Elder Spirits’ version of Mount Rushmore, with you all in animal-headed forms?” That sat him up, Jesse’s eyes widening. “Commemorative coins or stamps? A Thunderbird ten-dollar coin would sell, I’m pretty sure, and be interesting publicity. You should be on a three-dollar coin.”

Gordon had looked dyspeptic, but that made him hoot a laugh.

“Make it a two-dollars-and-ninety-nine-cents coin, Mercy, and call it the Shortchanger.”

That made everyone laugh, even Coyote. “Why you old flatterer.” Gordon grinned. “But I take the point, delegating daughter. And it sounds more fun than I first thought. I’ll be along soon, He Sees Spirits.”

Jim nodded. “I’ll look forward to it, Elder One. And unless I’ve lost it completely listening to She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars drop herself and everyone right in it, again, the spirits are dancing about all this.”

Bear nodded. “They lack our caution, but we should heed them. For all his usual nonsense, Coyote really hit the mark with you, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, and you carry the luck very strongly. You remember my daughter Jill Widepaw?” I did, from the night Elder Spirits came out. “She is among the oldest avatars, with deep knowledge, and between husbands for a while now, so also bored. Perhaps there might be a place with your security for a bear avatar?”

We agreed there might, so she’d call us. Yet another full Yakama Nation pow-wow would be held, with delegates from other tribal federations. We were back to Celilo Falls when Bear’s head turned.

“Wolves are coming.”

Wolf nodded. “It is the Freed Pack coming to say hello. And we are done here for now, Adam Hauptman and She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, so I will greet them unless you object.”

Adam shrugged. “Not my place to agree or object, Wolf. We’re on their land, so I’d say they come and go as they will.”

A brindled wolf loped out of trees on the far side of Wild Cat Creek, and gave me an enquiring look. I waved a hand.

“Come on over, Carla — we’re done. But if you get wet in the creek, _don’t_ spray us shaking it off, hey?”

Carla turned, giving a yip over her shoulder as Ben and Hec emerged from trees, then trotted down to the creek. Clearing it cleanly, she stopped, lowered the last inch of her tail into the water, and flicked it at me as she headed for Wolf, making everyone laugh. He squatted to welcome her, strong hands running over muzzle and flanks, and by then Ramona, Warren, and Darryl with the rest of the Freed were crowding down to leap the creek and swirl around us. Seeing Calvin was freaked I made a point of introducing him first, noting colours and markings so Dan, Ed, and Riva could memorise them, and Elder Spirits if they wanted.

“Freed, Coyote and Wolf you’ve met, and this is Thunderbird … Bear … and Raven.”

They all got co-ordinated nods from the wolves, but when I named Raven Ramona gave me a sharp look before they shifted to face him and gave the nearest wolves can manage to a bow. Ramona looked at Adam for a moment, then Wolf with a whine, and he came forward, frowning, before stooping his head to hers.

“They offer Raven heartfelt thanks for the part he and his children played in finding them in Wyoming, acknowledging debt, and Ramona says your children will always be welcome at their kills.”

I thought Raven was moved, as I was, and he looked hard at Ramona.

“There is no debt between us, Ramona Velasquez. She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars asked us for aid, rightly, for we would leave none in such torment as you suffered, but I and my children will be glad to share your kills.”

He extended an arm, squatting, and from somewhere a raven I thought old and female, without knowing why, flew down to perch at wolf eye-level. What might be being said or exchanged I didn’t know, but Ramona and all of the Freed Pack took patient turns meeting the raven’s gaze, and there was a smell of spirit magic. I met Coyote’s gaze, and he smiled.

“Flying down to a kill while the killers are still eating is to ravens innately ill-advised, so some protocols are advisable. And the spirits like co-operation between kinds — it’s a big part of why they like you so much.”

“Huh.” I glanced at Adam. “Should we offer the same? A few beakfuls won’t make much odds.”

Coyote grinned. “Careful, now. There are plenty of ravens everywhere, and most are greedy guts. But if you want to let them fly down a little earlier than they would, I can facilitate that.”

“And keep off the wild coyotes that trail us when we hunt?”

Adam sounded sceptical, and I stifled a grin. Coyotes did tend to gather when I was running on four legs, though I’d always thought their gossip was more along the lines of _rash coyote who runs with wolves_ than _hey, we could get some free dinner out of this_.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Coyote waggled a hand. “We’re used to sharing what we can get from big predator kills.”

“Right. Thanks for the offer, pretty-much father-in-law, and I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Such caution.”

But the colloquy was over, the raven flew off, and Calvin was piling cookware for washing. On principle I gave him help, pulling in Jesse and an amused Brent, but it wasn’t long before Bear, Wolf, and Raven made farewells, shifting and leaving, and Gordon spoke to Jim before making his own, jumping the creek, and vanishing into trees. Coyote stuck with us, talking to Jim, Dan, Ed, and Riva while we headed back to the ridgeline, Freed criss-crossing around us, but once we were descending he said he had other business, went coyote, and trotted off, tail waving jauntily.

Before the Freed spread out on the downslope I called out for them to remember the road-safety drill, pulled out my phone, and gave Penny a heads-up. Descending I wished I was on four legs too, parts of the slope being steep enough to jar knees, but humans look up more readily than coyotes and I changed my mind when a bald eagle circled overhead, eyeing Rimrock Lake. Jesse and Brent were pleased, and another surprise met us at the bottom for the Freed had waited on us, and streamed down the last bit beside us to spread out along the verge and look left and right in unison. I saw the camera on us, a smiling Penny saying something into her mike, and our luck was in because there _was_ something coming — a battered pick-up, with more dents than I’d seen for a while but an engine that sounded sweet, heading for Rimrock. The driver, an elderly Yakama in a gaudy work shirt, came to a stop, staring as an improbable line of wolves and people looked back. Freed gave him nods while humans waved thanks, and we jumped down to trot across the road safely. I wasn’t surprised when he turned in to the carpark, and mindful of Penny’s camera and Dan’s sensibilities, which quite a few older Yakama shared in some measure, I spoke to Ramona, and went to give Penny warning, not sorry to put that on air. Then, off camera, I went with Adam and Jim to say hello. Jim introduced us, and I explained what had been happening.

“Thing is, Mr Redbird, PBS are hoping to use that footage in this week’s programme and a Public Safety Film, so we were wondering if you minded. If you do, we’ll cut that section, but we thought seeing wolves do the look-and-listen drill would be effective with kids, and seeing a driver stop for beings on four legs would be good too.”

Old eyes considered me carefully, and he nodded.

“I do not mind that, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It. I do not believe cameras steal my essence, protecting children and reducing roadkill is always good, and my wife has me hooked on _Living Free and Moonbound_ , so she would not be happy if I refused.”

I was surprised by the full name, but his eyes had a glint that said he knew he was being dropped in it for good reasons, so I gave a warm smile.

“Thank you, Mr Redbird. Would you be willing to speak to Ms Ligatt directly, and meet the Freed?”

“I should be honoured, as I am to meet you. That feather of Thunderbird’s is truly beautiful, and you have to my mind been using it very well. I am also overjoyed at the news about Celilo Falls.”

“So am I, and more to come on that soon. As to the feather, my thanks, though Thunderbird still won’t tell me what it does except look good. But if you’re willing to be interviewed by Ms Ligatt, come on over.”

A pleased Penny was respectful, and I started wolf introductions. He got himself on Ramona’s good side by squatting to meet wolves at wolf eye-level, and offering greetings with real warmth in his voice. Then, with the Freed headed for the screen to change, Penny deftly extracted the story of his and his wife’s interest in the show, for itself, with deep empathy for the Freed, and in sensible preparation as they were now full-moon neighbours, before widening matters to re-emergent land and Celilo Falls, which drew in a very stone-faced Dan. The delay allowed a second round of food to be ready as hungry wolves re-emerged on two legs, and after I’d explained that they’d made no kill today, while two changes left any wolf ravenous, we all went to eat some more ourselves. We didn’t need it, but hey, even walking downhill can work up an appetite.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Attending church was a comforting ritual, an anchor in my increasingly unpredictable schedule, but the attendance of the Freed had added a spice of its own. They lowered the average age, boosted singing, and had prompted Reverend Jenkins to a series of sermons chewing on why bad things happen to good people, theological and other divides between denominations, and the ongoing efforts of all faiths to come to terms with the preternatural. And although they’d been discreet, many congregants knew there had been generous donations to the church’s funds. Certainly pastoral work was bustling.

The preternatural was again the topic of this week’s sermon, because an interfaith conference had, to its surprise, managed to agree that Medicine Wolf and the emerging co-operation between kinds enshrined in the Accords had to be reckoned a challenge to human apostasy and selfishness and, a majority insisted, a divinely sanctioned one. The reasoning, as Reverend Jenkins understood it, had stewardship-over-dominion arguments compounded by exposure of Cantrip’s amoral bigotry and the repeated implication of corrupted faith, with the shame induced. The latter was interesting, as it seemed to have dawned, even on the hotter sorts of Protestant, that the jury that acquitted Les Heuter, the JLS, and Mrs Bradley’s messianic Dim Future contempt for family were not good things to be represented by, and some real crises of faith were brewing nicely, not before time. Beyond that there was another sting, for in closing Reverend Jenkins spoke directly of the Freed, assuring us she’d discussed it with them beforehand.

“As some of you know, the problem with the padre in Richland is his rigid view that the preternatural is necessarily evil, but early in our discussions I heard Ms Velasquez ask him how any Freed could be held to be damned by something others had done to them, and he had no answer. Episcopalians of course believe that anyone who repents can be saved, but I made the point that being forcibly Changed was not something any Freed _could_ repent, for it was not of their choosing or doing. They can regret it, though it is far from clear they should, but cannot repent it, for they did no wrong. The same can be said of any wolf Changed without consent, as happened to Mr Hauptman” — that had come out when Adam and David Christiansen gave a joint interview — “and of course of all who are born fae or half-fae, avatar, Elder Spirit, or manitou. All exist within God’s creation, and unless you are willing to embrace a Calvinism in which He is willing to _create_ the damned, we must agree on salvation by works.”

Reverend Jenkins gave the nearest thing I’ve ever seen her give to a predatory grin.

“For the Catholics, of course, that’s orthodox, however they have a problem with putting it into practice in this case, but for many Protestant denominations it’s something of a lemon, and the only alternative is that preternaturals can walk in grace. And though I was unable to attend the conference, for family reasons, I did record an address laying that out, and arguing bluntly that to consider anyone born or forcibly made preternatural to be thereby damned is to reject Christ with the whole of the New Testament, and to insist on a God as cruelly unjust as Calvin’s. I understand it was heard in increasingly unhappy silence, and as something very like it is endorsed in the joint declaration I believe I did a fair job.”

The grin returned, reminding me of a shark.

“What _really_ stirs it all up is that this view coincides strongly with the liberal, often atheistic view that one must judge every being by what they say and do, not by any label we attach. I remind you of Galatians 6:7 — “Be not deceived ; God is not mocked : for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” And not only a man — also a woman, fae, wolf, Elder Spirit, or manitou. Do wrong, and you will at the last be judged for doing wrong, be you rich or poor, strong or weak, human or preternatural. But do right, and you will be rewarded for doing so, whoever and whatever you may be. The remaining problem, as always, is what constitutes doing right and doing wrong, but that’s for another day.”

Even Episcopalians didn’t go for applauding sermons, but when Ramona and the Freed stood in acknowledgement the whole congregation followed, and Reverend Jenkins blushed becomingly before thanking everyone and getting on with the liturgy. There was quite a buzz afterward, and — one of the Freed’s pleasing effects — people hung around, to shoot the breeze and make nice. Jesse had stayed home this week, so Adam and I didn’t have to worry about the clump of reporters who turned up anywhere they knew I’d be, and we pulled a woman who worked in the mayor’s office into conversation with Ramona about public safety films. She was tickled by the idea, and as werewolves, too dense to float, were very wary of water, while children managed to fall into the Columbia, Snake, and swimming-pools, the idea of a big bad wolf ostentatiously using water wings seemed like a good follow up. Adam wasn’t sure if he was amused or offended, but Ramona thought it funny and I promised I’d check with Darryl on just how much buoyancy a wolf would need.

There was also business about the Freed’s educational plans. Most had never completed high school, and a few had never attended at all, but once legal processes were over, and counselling had a grip, Ramona ruthlessly arranged tutors and coaches, saying college was their call but she didn’t want an ignorant pack. Even those who grumbled had enjoyed themselves — good tutors were a much better experience than a desperately stretched system — and it had been a fine running segment of _Living Free and Moonbound_. Everyone benefited, and most Freed were now thinking about Wazzu in the fall. Well and good, but there had never been a cohort of college wolves before, and beyond what courses they were variously interested in all sorts of questions were being thrown up. How should days lost to midweek full moons be made up? Did wolf strength and speed make for highly desirable or unfairly advantaged athletes? And how did the Paths of Assertion and Mercy play in? Given Wazzu’s strong agricultural and veterinary tracks there was a lot wolves might do, but it wasn’t necessarily what they wanted to do. Some mutual back-scratching was a good idea, though, and we agreed a meeting between Ramona and the president, whom Adam and I knew from the Columbia conferences.

Heading home, we talked about the subtler effects of yesterday we’d seen in the Freed. Financial security and owning their own homes had been important to humans, especially former illegals, but not so much to their wolves ; owning a tract of hunting land, though, meant a great deal more than ending the irritation of having to share at full moon, and we had sensed the wolves as at once excited and more relaxed. I thought that as the humans caught up there might be a drift towards land management and forestry, despite the Freed being more urban than rural, and such jobs might prove well suited to human and wolf needs. We’d also both been moved by their health and pleasure on four legs, and though it wasn’t appropriate we felt oddly parental about them. That supposedly Chinese proverb about being responsible for a life you save was more recent than traditional, as far as I could google, but it had some punch all the same.

Jesse didn’t use cooking therapeutically, but enjoyed it and had both put pork in to cook and done roast potatoes and gravy. That left quicker-cooking vegetables for us and earth fae, who weren’t vegetarian but went for more greens than meat, so I hauled out the steamer while Jesse went to tell them we’d be eating soon. Brent had gone to see a friend in Umatilla, so I was actually alone for a bit, and as I prepared red cabbage, baby carrots, and snow-peas did some stock-taking.

Running still depended on the public response, but I couldn’t fool myself that was likely to be anything but positive, and though I was conflicted about Stefan it wasn’t going to stop me — vamps had had many chances and done nothing, victims continued to pile up, and enough was enough. But my coyote excitement was engaged, seeing the mischief in it as well as the gravity, and I ruefully acknowledged I’d become hooked on re-arranging the nation’s priorities to suit my own. Which Bran and Adam would have seen, and ap Lugh could have done. I thought the Man had come to an independent judgement, whatever mutual reinforcement there might have been among preternaturals, and he was one of the very few people who could say from experience what qualifications were required. They clearly weren’t what I had vaguely supposed, and thinking it through ways in which things I’d thought liabilities could become advantages soothed my nerves. If it happened there was still going to be a ton of stuff to learn, but what the Man was telling me was that administration and governance were all very well, but lots of people could do that, and if you were leader then leading was what mattered. Changing the rules in national politics also promised to be, if perilous, highly entertaining.

I was on to who, or what, might run for Congress where, unhappily conscious I still had no idea of a good running-mate, when Jesse brought the earth fae in, formally inviting them to enter as guests in the ritual way they liked, and the kitchen filled up. By standing arrangement they set about laying the table, leaving steel cutlery for Jesse and taking their usual pleasure in the aluminium set Zee had made as a welcome-to-Kennewick gift. They spoke softly among themselves, of plants and the season, but once I had vegetables in the steamer started a happily different conversation that took us through the meal.

Seating fourteen earth fae required benches, and I found it deeply pleasing to see brownies and pixies happily tucking in. They’d told us it had been centuries since anyone had shown them such kindness, and though they weren’t keen on meeting strangers we’d slowly widened their circle of friends to include Jenny, Andrea, Kyle, and the Fishers and Willises, as well as pack. Today it was just Adam, Jesse, and me, and they had business in mind, because what was it, exactly, Adam and I wanted for the sweep of land and river-frontage we jointly owned? Forest, wilderness, tillage, and garden they understood, but the way we kept scrubland from running wild without really doing anything with it puzzled them. It was a mixture of laziness and the time-consuming nature of serious gardening, of course, but as the work was no longer an impediment the only real issue was water — plants closer to the river or with deeper roots could flourish, but you didn’t have to get far from the banks before topsoil was bone-dry unless it was raining. Then again, as Pirandella cheerfully pointed out, they all knew a thing or two about irrigation, Medicine Wolf could help if anything extensive was needed, and with the oaks flourishing other less usual plants might also be considered.

That was an opening I needed to take, but I made myself consider their question properly. Adam didn’t have strong feelings, save that the view over the Columbia shouldn’t be blocked, but conceded having the scrubland looking neater (as it already did) was pleasing. He mostly meant, but wasn’t saying, that the stripped-down VWs I used to leave in my field to annoy him had gone, because rusting iron was a hazard for fae, and I gave him a mild fisheye that made him grin. Jesse had a hankering for a lawn where frisbees could be thrown and safely run for, but didn’t want to impose a lot of work, and a stranger desire for a rockery with small-flowered plants. It transpired Jenna had the bug, and had been showing her and Sally images of gardens in Seattle and Portland she wanted to visit. I had a desire for roses, even if only one colour each, but thought expanding the kitchen garden wise, given how many vegetables we could get through. And Nuthatch thought all that straightforward, assuring Jesse that though lawn grass was thirsty he too liked its green softness.

Listening to them, I realised they all wanted a general greening, for visual as much as tactile comfort. Earth fae were spirits of worked rather than wild land, as _coblynau_ of worked rock, not mountains, and their traditional niche had been between the gardens and tillage they would help humans tend and surrounding wilderness or forest. The parched scrubland of the rain-shadow was to them simply dull, and with the Columbia on tap and the aid Medicine Wolf could offer the desire to do something about their immediate surroundings was an urge they had no wish to resist. Once Nuthatch and Pirandella agreed they would draw up a plan for Adam and me to approve, I cautiously asked about the oaks, and was solemnly shown impromptu daggers — smooth, bulbous bases to grip, and four inches of jagged splinter-blade tapering to needle-points.

“Those are good. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but I am glad you have an effective defence. I was genuinely asking about the oaks, though.”

I told them about Celilo Falls, explaining that while offers to the Gray Lords and Underhill would be sincere there was also First People’s strong dislike of photography and that interesting fae magic that didn’t agree with cameras. The flipped deal to make it a _quid pro quo_ Gray Lords might be happy to offer amused them — all fae appreciate cleverly worded deals — and they were as delighted at the idea of a lush space as intrigued by the thought of recruiting more trees.

“The oaks do not _use_ glamour, Mercedes Elf-friend, but they _have_ glamour. It is why none see them when they move. They cannot shield this house unless they surround it, but we could imbue your bounds with enough glamour that photographs would show little.” Nuthatch cocked his head. “And there are many trees Underhill that might be glad of space Overhill to grow and fruit. I cannot say what they would think of protecting Celilo Falls, though I do not see why they would not like it, and I believe they would be glad to help protect the Freed Pack. Those wolves were as kind to us in that place as they could be, and their joy now in freedom is warmly felt, as is our own, and the selkies’, oakman’s, and dryad’s.”

“Huh. Well, that’s good to know. I don’t think we want the house invisible from over the river, but blocking South Piert and Meals so those tourist coaches got nothing would be good.” Adam and Jesse agreed, and Nuthatch nodded. “But for the Freed, shielding would be a boon. The paparazzi have become more cautious — being hauled out of trees by unhappy wolves is _not_ fun — but still try, and they’ve managed to snap Freed in their garden. Mmm. We’re expecting ap Lugh and other Gray Lords later, about the political thing and the Undead, so I’ll mention these ideas, as First People see them.” That got grins. “Perhaps you might speak to the oakman, or others Underhill, and see who might be interested.”

“That we can do, Mercedes Elf-friend, and joyfully.” Pirandella looked contemplative. “Might the Freed welcome brownies and pixies, to tend their garden? There are enough of us here, yet others would work Overhill if they might. Underhill tends to itself.”

“The Freed might well welcome earth fae, Pirandella. I’ll ask Ramona. But there is no open water where they dwell in Richland, unless a well were drilled, or water could be drawn from the Yakima River.”

“Even so. The waterside is pleasure, not necessity. And with Medicine Wolf, much might be possible.”

“So it might.” I added to my burgeoning to-do list. “Richland is much more urban, and even two gardens together don’t add up to anything like the space we have here. Living by the Yakima might be preferable, but that would put the ByPass Highway between them and the Freed’s houses.”

“We could build a bridge, love.” Adam waggled a hand. “Richmond knows it owes us, so I doubt they’d refuse permission.”

They were happy with that, and conversation shifted to things Adam had pack-members and others doing on my behalf. Kyle already had a working draft of a vamp code of conduct, and Auriele had done a bunch of stuff for the vamp intel package. Ben had secured the domain-names I wanted, and had programming I’d need in advanced testing, though Adam still refused to repeat what he’d said when he’d received the request. Some earth fae lost interest, talking among themselves, but Nuthatch and Pirandella listened carefully, occasionally asking for clarification, and seemed amused. How well they understood the human dimensions was moot, but it was the first Jesse was hearing of some of it, and she surely did, grinning very widely and asking sharp questions about timing.

“Kiddos can do a _lot_ with that, Mom. Is there any legal problem with minors being involved?”

“Not formally, Jesse, but there are gray areas. Talk to Ben to make sure you grok the software accurately? It has to be very resilient to channel the good chaos into better order.”

“Sure thing. And that’s more awesome, Mom, as well as really reaching out. The gun control, too, though some of the post-Parkland people will have a hard time with the gun rights.”

“Yeah, I know. Not a word to anyone yet, though once I’ve sorted out when this all happens with Caroline and Penny you could do some tweeting or whatever to boost the audience.”

Jesse knew all too well what public exposure meant, and had no desire to put her face on the nation’s screens and front pages while she could avoid it, but also had a serious number of online followers, a high percentage her peers, nationwide and beyond.

“Gladly, Mom. Can we talk about how kiddos and ex-kiddos should talk to voting family members? Clear templates would be good.”

That took us into stacking the dishwasher, of which earth fae couldn’t quite decide if they approved. I was teasing Pirandella about her ambivalence when my phone sounded with an expected ring-tone, and ap Lugh asked permission to come with others by arch to the garden.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Though sensibly wary of Gray Lords, the earth fae came with us, helping to carry a couple of small tables and a rug for The Dagda. Wolves brought wooden chairs, Jesse collected glasses and decanted mineral water, a gingerbread loaf, and the brownie tin, and I grabbed plates and napkins. With the sun westering we got a fire burning, and by the time an arch formed had a decent welcome waiting.

It was again ap Lugh, Nemane, Edythe, Baba Yaga, and The Dagda, but they had Irpa with them, cheerfully bouffant despite her troll club at port arms, and to my surprise Bran, Charles, and Anna. I more-or-less trusted these Gray Lords by now, within limits, but Gray Lords are Gray Lords so I was wearing the cloak and Thunderbird’s feather, carrying Manannán’s Bane, and didn’t skimp on formal greetings as guests of the Columbia Basin Pack. Eyes glinted ironic approval while they returned formalities, Irpa offered a troll wink, and Bran a nod.

“Gwyn ap Lugh was glad to offer us swifter travel than the Cessna, Mercy, and with so much to be done it is helpful.”

“Un huh.” Bran’s wariness about using Underhill as a shortcut seemed to have faded, which was interesting. “Any particular kind of so much?”

“Arranging the meeting of Alphas, mostly. We need to agree a date, but should first deal with the greater matters in hand.”

“Of course. Let me finish formalities.”

I greeted Charles and Anna, glad to see them, and as neither they nor Bran had met the earth fae did full introductions. Bran and Charles got cautious nods, but Anna’s sunny zen brought smiles and warmer greetings, and with a sideways glance at ap Lugh Nuthatch told me they were happy to tend the fire and serve water and food. As ap Lugh raised no objection I cheerfully agreed, and with guarded regret to The Dagda for not having a chair to fit him we settled in a loose circle round the fire. I’d thought Irpa was on guard duty, but when she sat, sharing The Dagda’s rug, I recalculated. Jesse was between Adam and me, and though no-one asked I told them flatly we’d decided her security included being fully informed.

Once water and food were served, and the hospitality spell held all, I set the ball rolling with a summary of my conversation with Elder Spirits so far as vamps were concerned, and indicated a distinct matter arose to be considered later. I’d bet they’d all heard my conversation with the Man, but I tallied high points, with my promise to update him.

“So, in a nutshell, we can tell Bonarata that non-compliance will mean forced outing with concerted action by effectively armed joint SWAT teams, in the first instance targeting seethes by daylight, and anywhere with a ghost problem avatars find. Vamps can come out and sign up to the Code, or face deportation or permanent restraint in plastic coffins. Charles, Baba Yaga, we also need maximal data on vamp finances, so the Feds can freeze or confiscate. And if we could get such data on Bonarata, and the Man can lean hard enough on Italian and whatever authorities, we could give the ticking clock some nasty teeth.”

There were nods, though Charles waggled a hand.

“Surely, Mercy, but their financial security is usually first-rate, besides very old accounts being deeply buried and not always digitised.”

“True, Charles Cornick, but we remember old names and ways. And,” Baba Yaga extended a finger, “there is Wulfe the Sorcerer, who made the Master, and might reasonably, if Mercedes is correct, be expected to offer us something by way of _bona fides_. Financial data would fit that bill nicely, and might also suit that one’s own purposes.”

“Yes it might, Baba Yaga. You’ve all known Wulfe, or of him, far longer than me. Does anyone have a clear sense of what his balance of motives might be? I’m positing pragmatic advantage as the driver, because outing would happen soon anyway and be very bad for the Undead, but I’ll bet revenge on a disobedient child is right up there too.”

“So I would think.” Ap Lugh shrugged gracefully. “One question is whether he will protect Marsilia, Mistress of his seethe and the cast-off child of the child who cast him off.” I nodded, having wondered exactly that without getting anywhere. “But another may be what if anything he wants of us. Nemane?”

She gave him a very beady look before turning it on me. “This is all guesswork, Mercedes, but as it was to me as much as Gwyn ap Lugh that news of She of Livorno was wilfully given, it may have been a proffer. All fae know and understand death, cleaving to life and light, but The Morrígan is of the life that feasts on carrion, and the Undead are … not wholly alien to that.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I need to tell you this, and having to do so doesn’t make me like you any better, but one reason I tend to be intolerant of the Undead is that I _don’t_ quite feel the same visceral disgust at their nature as most fae. It annoys me, but there it is. And if I were to ignore that annoyance, there are one or two matters, rare but important, in which I and Wulfe the Sorcerer might manage together that which is beyond either alone. That’s all I’m saying except it would offer no threat to you and yours.”

I thought about that, knowing wolves would be doing so just as hard, and waggled my hand a little. Nemane looked even beadier.

“I am glad to learn all that, Nemane, and honour your gift of yourself. Yet would that ‘you and yours’ cover its meaning should I be elected?”

Her face became very still. “Probably not, but it would truly be only fae and Undead business. And quite personal business.”

“Very well. Bran, do you know who the parents of She of Livorno were?”

“No. She existed before me, and no tale I ever heard sounded true.”

“Gwyn ap Lugh?”

“We know, yes.” He considered. “You worry the fae parent is alive?”

“Among other things. Wider kin also. And I’m wondering about the scale of her agency in confirmed dismissal.”

“Ah. It is old and painful history, Mercedes, but I will say that the Faerie Queen who bore her is long dead, by her daughter’s hand and witchcraft. A human that Queen thought she had enthralled was a black wizard who enslaved her instead, and he also died by his daughter’s hand. Being both matricide and patricide was one great source of her power, for she took all that was theirs.”

“Not a good CV. How on earth did a vamp get her? Or did she want to be Turned?”

“We believe so, yes. Exactly what she did remains a matter of debate, with how she did it, but her power was augmented in undeath, so you are right that if she lived we would not be acting as we are. I am less clear why that matters.”

“It’s partly not being made itchy by large blanks, Gwyn ap Lugh, but more Wulfe. If her dismissal was by Bonarata and Wulfe, who got any of her powers?”

Nemane nodded. “Wulfe got some, in further proof of her dismissal, but only what was of the Undead. Her body could hold fae magic only because it _was_ half-fae, or had once been so, and she had done much black spellwork on herself that would have unravelled in dismissal, as the Undead become dust. I watched Wulfe closely in that mine, when he vanished those bars, and he has deep reserves of power that could harm all but the greatest of us, but he is nothing to her. What Bonarata might have come away with I cannot aver, but he has always been a user of wizards and witches, and as far as we know could cast off his maker largely because he had some immunity to the magic of the Undead, while Wulfe relied on it too heavily as his agency of control.”

Bran nodded. “So I have heard.”

“Huh. That rings true. So Bonarata holds his place in part because the other strongest vamps, magic users, are at a disadvantage taking him on?”

“That is fair to say, Mercedes. Does it matter?”

“It might, Nemane. Bran knows some interesting things about the Master’s pet wolf.”

Bran sat forward. “Honest history deserves honest history, however painful. Lenka Yakovlevna was an Alpha’s mate but not very dominant. She was, though, beautiful and admired. Widow’s grief when her mate lost a challenge made her vulnerable, and Bonarata knew enough to take and break her, but she _is_ broken — or her wolf, in permanent charge, is broken. Blind loyalty, with wolf strength and speed, have made her one of his most feared servants.” Bran shrugged. “Why no-one has used silver on her is a mystery. Someone should, if only in pity. But it is interesting — since Bonarata gave this, as he saw it, proof of superiority over wolves, he has ignored those in Italy unless something impinges directly, and then expects them to jump for the asking. He ignores me and all in the New World as long as vamps send his due tribute promptly, though he must know that here wolves dominate the Undead. Even the Medicine Wolf Accords do not seem to alarm him, as they should. So. I think he assumes he knows wolves because he has Lenka, and is addicted to her blood, but I have several times assisted Italian wolves to thwart him in small ways that matter to them, and a while back began to suspect his indifference was not patient tallying but ignorance. Nor is there any indication he has realised what we are supposing Wulfe realises. Bonarata cleaves hard to old ways, assuming their innate superiority, which leaves much room to be badly mistaken. It connects because his entrenched reliance on immunity to vamp magic is complacency, given Mercy’s potent mix of magics and unpredictable ability to bend intents.”

The Dagda had been quietly watchful but suddenly nodded, beard billowing. “Indeed, Marrok. He will not truly know what it is he will plan to attack, and so be ignorant of the threat.” The fae’s gaze rested on me. “Is that why you think to use yourself as bait, Mercedes Elf-friend? To draw him off-balance sooner than he would allow were he wiser?”

I blew out a breath. “Partly, The Dagda, though I doubt Bonarata will involve himself personally unless he feels obliged for some reason.” Which I might be able to provide. “I’m expecting … minions, first up, at least, and one thing I would be glad of, Gwyn ap Lugh, is whatever files you have on his … court? Entourage, anyway. We have Bran’s, but it’s always better to know your enemies thoroughly.”

Ap Lugh nodded. “That we can do, Mercedes.” He cocked his head. “Why else do you use yourself as bait?”

I swallowed irritation. “Lack of options? If I run, I’m bait anyway, and not only for the Undead. But when they’ve come at me before, either I’ve been ambushed alone, or forced by hostages to go to them, or there was a demon involved. This will escalate into more potent threat, but they’ll be facing more and different magic than they’re expecting, I sincerely hope. The problem is dealing hard with first attacks while maintaining reserves.”

Ap Lugh’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed. Am I right to think you asked about Underhill’s sunlight because you would force those who can daywalk to make any subsequent attempt?”

“That’s a big reason, Gwyn ap Lugh, but so is dismissing any attack in force on this house. And we should have some warning at least. Adam?”

“One thing vamps can’t hide is body temperature. That’s been to their advantage because they don’t show on thermal imaging, but the software’s got good enough to look for a moving cold shape so I’m upgrading. Gwyn ap Lugh, how close to the house and how grouped, would attacking Undead have to be for Underhill to … light-sabre them all?”

Ap Lugh’s eyes glinted, and Edythe grinned.

“Light scatters and travels fast, Adam Hauptman. Underhill believes a circle a quarter-mile in diameter would be possible on seconds’ notice.”

“Good. I’d hoped for margin. Would you tell Underhill I am gladdened by this news?”

“Of course. There is also the question of other candidates, and though Lizzie was flattered you thought of her, Mercy, she does not wish for so much exposure again, so soon.” That I understood, and nodded. “In time, perhaps. But others are intrigued. Irpa?”

I looked up to find her gazing at me, expression thoughtful.

“I have property in Haight-Ashbury, Mercy — couldn’t resist — and I’ve kept it legal, taxes and all. Was your suggestion to the Prince about me running in that ward serious?”

“Entirely, Irpa. Your interview with Caroline made a very good impression on humans, and so did helping with that avalanche. Your dam work, too.” I waggled a hand. “In some wards a troll might be a step too far, but in _that_ ward, against _that_ opponent, I genuinely think you’d have real traction. And besides laughing himself silly, the Man thought hearings for any legal challenge could be expedited.”

“Huh. I have to say I’m flattered, as well as tickled, Mercy, but what about other trolls? Those who keep a footing Overhill tend to be near major bridges, and several have paperwork in order.”

“If you’re vouching for any troll, Irpa, I’ll endorse them. Trolls representing wards with major bridges seems right.” I grinned. “There’ll be some wailing and running around, though.”

“The more, the merrier.” Irpa grinned back. “The problems, though, Mercy, are that, first, while it’s tempting, my neighbours don’t know me as fae, only Irpa Thorsden.” Twenty-odd foot of bouffant troll vanished, replaced by six foot of older-looking but well-muscled blonde woman, still sitting cross-legged in Chanel but without a mobile tattoo and holding a stout walking stick. “I really don’t know what they’ll think.”

“Thorsden, eh?” I didn’t ask, but Irpa had said troll-clubs were gifts from Thor, and he by all accounts had an eye for comely giantesses. “Any embarrassing local disappearances or whatever that might pop if it were known Ms Thorsden could eat any toll-dodgers she happened across?”

“Nah. And no evidence of anything to be found.”

“Then I can’t see why Haight-Ashbury wouldn’t think a Deadhead troll rocks. I don’t know what’ll happen to my popularity when I announce, but God knows you’d get enough free airtime.”

“So the Prince thought also, Mercy. And I’m up for it, for many reasons. But I and others had thought we could help you with security, because glamoured like this the Undead have a hard time telling what sort of fae we might be, and troll-clubs really do work on anything. But if I and one or two others are running ourselves …”

Even with the Troll-friend label I was surprised, and my feelings for Irpa were warm. “Yeah. That’s … well, the offer makes me very glad, Irpa, and please pass that on to Þorgerðr, Vorðr, and whoever.” She nodded, and I let my brain turn. “One thing is campaigning before the Undead get outed and, assuming I survive, after. And glamour is wholly malleable, so could you do whatever in your ward as Ms Thorsden and Irpa, but be available to join me looking different when I have to be exposed? Road security, in effect.” I flicked a glance around assembled faces. “This goes no further, please, but, frankly, Irpa, if you or other trolls could do that, it would really boost my defence strategy, which is as multicultural as my platform — human guards, official and less so, wolves in both forms, avatars, plus my cloak wielding slow time, Manannán’s Bane, Carnwennan, Thunderbird’s feather, whatever it does, and Skuffles in reserve. I’d be very glad to have you and Giant-shortener aboard, and maybe it wouldn’t mind a secondary praisename as, oh, Undead Unmaker or whatever.”

Irpa laughed. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” She patted her stick, and I wondered if troll-clubs that were pleased with themselves preened, as Manannán’s Bane did. “Multicultural defence sounds good. I need to have conversations, but that ought to be possible.”

“Good.” I considered her. “Does Ms Thorsden have a cell phone?”

“She does.” The human-sized Irpa took a latest model iPhone from a capacious pocket, and sent a text, making me wonder, not for the first time, how glamour dealt with such realities as a fingertip bigger than the whole phone, never mind one key.

My phone pinged. “Good again. I’ll be in touch about the political side once I have some idea what I’m doing.” She grinned, and I shrugged. “I know, but things are beginning to come together.” I looked around. “As this seems to have done. Gwyn ap Lugh, is there news of wooden bullets?”

“There is, Mercedes.” He produced a cloth bag from somewhere, and tossed it to Adam. “A dozen samples, Adam Hauptman, numbered on the bases. Let me know which works best with the Glock cases, and Underhill promises ten thousand rounds within the Overhill day.”

Adam had the bag open, turning a dark cylinder in his fingers with an appreciative look. “That is very helpful indeed, Gwyn ap Lugh. Do please tell Underhill of our further gladness.”

Ap Lugh smiled wryly. “I shall, Adam Hauptman, yet Underhill is happy to do this. She says she has not done so many new things for a very long time, nor felt less bored. So we are, it transpires, glad of your request, Mercedes. A cheerful Underhill eases much for many.”

“I am always happy to contribute to our stable balance, Gwyn ap Lugh. Am I good to update the Man, and set up this … pow-wow between all whom I dubbed anti-vamp commanders? Elder Spirits said they’ll get themselves here on request, and Adam’s conferencing suite can handle it. I regret you won’t fit, The Dagda, unless you downsize with glamour.”

The Dagda nodded, seeming unbothered, and ap Lugh met gazes before he nodded too. “I think so, Mercedes. And Medicine Wolf?”

“Also doesn’t fit inside, which this pow-wow has to be. I’m keeping it posted, and will make sure it knows the night sunshine idea is … loaded and cocked. If it happens there’ll be some confused wildlife, but no problem.”

“Well enough. Does anyone have anything else concerning the Undead before we move on?”

Edythe’s yo-yo spun in a circle before slapping into her palm. “I told you I was not attuned to elections, Mercedes Elf-friend, but I am becoming quite attuned to _you_. Nothing useful has come to me, yet it may, so be aware I also have your number.” She took a phone from a pocket and hit a button, my phone pinging at once. "If I ever call you, take it fast.”

“I will, Edythe.” I was going to have to think about ringtones, always fun. The Dead’s ‘Estimated Prophet’ might work for her, though the _Jaws_ music was tempting. “Anyone else? Bran?”

“A clarification, Mercy. I’ve told bicentenarians and younger they have to come out, and encouraged all wolves to think hard about standing. You will also be coming out as undying. With you, Irpa, the question is moot, yet I would be glad to know what you might say if asked.”

“Asking a lady’s age is bad manners, Bran Cornick, but humans do have those. I’ll cop to younger than Medicine Wolf and older than Methuselah.”

Bran smiled. “Fair enough. But for wolves one major side benefit of exposing the Undead is to spread human curiosity about deep historical witness, and if Mercy is right about Wulfe’s plans one of our prices will be that those Undead who sign up assist in this. Mercy suggested round tables with historians as a way of framing revelations. Might you or other fae be willing to participate?”

A hand waggled delicately, and I noticed Ms Thorsden had beautiful hands. “Maybe. Prince?”

Ap Lugh was still for a moment. “I have no objection, Irpa.” He gave an unexpected smile. “If you are elected to the House I imagine your speeches will be historically informed, so an electoral demonstration of deep knowledge seems sensible. You want this also, Mercedes Elf-friend?”

“I do, Gwyn ap Lugh, not only to give older wolves coming out some cover. Bluntly, centuries of experience are part of what the preternatural can offer on the Path of Mercy” — I still felt a twinge of embarrassment using the name — “and I’ll need to make that clear to all. I understand real longevity means accumulated loss, and there is no call for any personal revelation anyone doesn’t want to make. But historical witness, especially of events that are widely known, is a necessary … earnest we must offer. Avatars will be involved in a concerted effort to set the Amerindian record straight, and if the Fae want the history of human–preternatural relations in recent decades written fairly, they need to offer historians evidence to tell the tale so.” I held up a hand. “I don’t mean anything truly private or necessarily secret, but if you ever get around to opening your embassy, Baba Yaga, maybe it could be less ambassadorial residence and more cultural centre and library, open to accredited scholars. No grimoires, but history, ancient and modern, from unexpected perspectives, poetry old and new in ever so many extinct languages, and the tales humans mangle in true forms. An offer of truth that will both inform and draw goodwill.”

More than the fae were staring, but Baba Yaga looked interested, and after a moment ap Lugh gave a deep nod.

“That is an idea that bears thinking on, Mercedes Elf-friend.”

“Elrond’s library always feels as if it might have a footing Underhill.”

There was laughter, but with the principle accepted I was happy to deal with practicalities and logistics, considered data packs to be given humans, in various versions, and clarified the likely timetable, which meant me starting the ball rolling with Caroline in less than a fortnight. I swallowed, sharply aware of what I’d let myself in for, and opened a second front. In for a cent, in for a dollar.

“Whatever happens with the Undead and my putative candidacy, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, and I have other imperatives to deal with, because in mid-June Celilo Falls will re-emerge. No offence to any, but do you understand what that will mean to all First People?”

“I doubt we can, Mercy, but we know what they were to those who fished them. There will be much celebration, I take it.”

“And a great concentration of spirit magic. Several things are relevant.” I counted on fingers. “First, I am going to have to push the Washington and Oregon legislatures, with the Man’s help, and I’ll be on that before the candidacy is publicly mooted. The main thing is to grant the Falls and surrounding area — which I’ll be trying to maximise — to the Yakama in perpetuity. This is of no direct concern to any fae, though your passive support would gladden us, but, second, First People and Elder Spirits have no desire whatever to welcome Anglo tourists to the Sacred Space their kind saw fit to drown so they could generate electricity to go on leaking radioactives at Hanford.” I heard a wince or two, but really. “To give that exclusion teeth, Elder Spirits’ children will become resident — bears, cougars, rattlers, owls, raptors — and they have offered wolves a deal — we’ll do physical security at cost around whatever border is agreed, and will be welcome as preternaturals. Medicine Wolf is in, as it _is_ Celilo Falls, so Elder Spirits propose the Sacred Space become a place where all preternaturals and First People meet in peace. All fae and half-fae will be welcome, without obligation save that they, like all, most strictly keep that peace, and I will add my voice to the invitation, because if this house becomes a Western White House somewhere else handy for meetings that isn’t Underhill is going to be necessary.”

Ap Lugh and others had nodded as I spoke, The Dagda massively.

“That sounds sensible, Mercedes, and if no obligation is incurred I cannot see why we would not take advantage of such a place for safe meeting. It sounds interesting.”

“Good.” I raised a third finger, gesturing to the earth fae. “A distinct and interesting issue arises, with another in tow. In seeking to welcome and care for the oaks that settled here, honouring the earth fae, I learn there are earth fae and trees Underhill who would welcome gardens Overhill to care for, or space to grow and fruit. We can welcome some here, and there is the Freed garden in Richland, though space is limited and irrigation trickier. I would be glad of your advice in these matters, and, fourth, there will be the Sacred Space, a very magical place, however Overhill, so if there are trees that appreciate a microclimate Elder Spirits will welcome them, holding their gifts of glamour a balance for the earth and water they need. Should they come, Medicine Wolf offers customised irrigation in free earnest of mutually hallowed space.”

Ap Lugh’s smile was unexpected. “And to what could we possibly object in all that? It is more clever integration, and however strongly I may suspect disappointed photographers are your true object, Underhill will be intrigued. Yet again. And it is a well-balanced proposal, Mercedes Elf-friend, meeting need with need. When the parameters of the Sacred Space are known, I believe Underhill will be happy to assist Medicine Wolf with restoring vegetation. Edythe can liaise with Nuthatch.” He considered me a moment, eyes glinting. “Would I be right to think the space you offer trees here is along South Piert and Meals Roads?”

“In the first place, Gwyn ap Lugh, but trees and rose-bushes, or other plants aware of enemies will be welcome anywhere on Adam’s and my land, saving only the river frontage. Medicine Wolf’s irrigation may be needed, but earth fae are willing to undertake the work, and providing them with a general greening they desire is a true object.”

This smile was more austere. “As it would be, Daughter of Coyote as you are. I will say also we were right to force your hand a little in this, for already it bears fruit, potent in war and peace. But the sun westers. Does aught remain to settle today?”

Aught didn’t, and after asking Bran if he would return to Aspen Creek now — he wouldn’t, as I could take him by cloak later ; I sighed — Gray Lords and Irpa made farewells. I blew out a long breath while wolves shook themselves, slung an arm round Jesse, and raised an eyebrow at Bran.

“Problem?”

“Not in the least, Mercy, though you continue to underestimate how much shielding that cloak gives you. The air has been thicker than it should be, and Nemane was not happy to have to tell us what she did.”

“That’s her problem. Was it very bad, ex-kiddo?”

“Not really, Mom.” Jesse’s voice was smaller than it might have been. “Bran’s right I was feeling it, but I’m more strung out realising what I’ve helped push you into and seeing you be awesome again.”

“It’s not on you, Jesse. Why the awesome, though? This is all logistics.”

“Is it, Mercy?” Bran sounded … I wasn’t sure what. “You also have my congratulations on as neat a piece of Gray Lord wrangling as I’ve ever seen. Ap Lugh is right about your integrating things.”

I shrugged. “I’m doing what I do, Bran. You’re just puzzled because for once it’s something you want.”

Adam grinned, but Pirandella went to Jesse and took her hand.

“All is well, Jesse Hauptman. No fae will strike at one chosen of Underhill. And you need not worry about Nemane, Bran Cornick. It is only that a necessary tolerance of undeath comes between her selves and The Dagda a little, for his nature is otherwise.” She offered a fine pixie grin. “It has always made her … cranky. But we are glad of your care, and your skill in allowing Gray Lords to do as you wish is much to be admired. In the fullness of time this night’s is a tale that will be gladly told.”

I stifled a groan. “The fullness of time had better be a lot later than sooner, Pirandella, not that Gwyn ap Lugh didn’t see right through me.”

“And cared not one whit, save to be glad of your cleverness.”

“If you say so.” I turned to Bran. “What else do you need?”

“Charles and I wish to see those slugs in action, and talk to Adam about co-operation with strike teams, after which you and I should talk about governors. We must also sort that Denver meeting, for next weekend.”

“Fair enough. Then after I’ve updated the Man I’ll go integrate food, you and Adam go integrate magic bullets and standard or otherwise cases, Anna can do whatever she wants, and we’ll talk over dinner.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The new week brought a lot of increasingly antsy waiting. The Man had hoped Sunday night to confirm Thursday for the pow-wow, and called Monday, after receiving copies of the Vampire Briefing and draft Code of Conduct, to offer startled thanks. I took the chance to talk governors and laid out the basic proposal for returning land and some compensation. He thought that would fly, so I gave him an outline of what would happen around Celilo Falls once reborn under the sky and his eyes widened.

“Let me see if I have this straight, Ms Hauptman. Elder Spirits are going to bring in serious biodiversity, of the dangerous kind, which makes it wise to reroute I84 and the railroad, while you’ve whistled up some … huorns, more or less, that will fog cameras?”

I grinned at huorns, which I’d wondered about myself. “Yup. Consider it a lesson for Anglos, Mr President. It’s hardly on you, but a lot of First People around here speak very harshly of parents and grandparents for accepting the Federal Government’s bribe to set aside the 1855 treaties. Guess what they’re willing to say about the Government for offering it?”

He winced.

“That covers it. Then ask yourself, sir, whether the oldest continually inhabited site on this continent, with a history stretching back not less than 15,000 years, would have been flooded if those dwelling there had been Anglo. Exactly. So once we get it back visiting rights are not on the table, and that includes photography. However most will not understand, there will be a place in this land so sacred it is not available to outsiders, in person or via technology. Our Kaaba, if you like, but with magical teeth. I mention it so you know what we need from the legislatures, and because the process will offer opportunity. Would you like to be invited to the rebirth? Cameras will be kept at a distance, but Caroline Taylor might be trusted to be careful about what she showed, to allow interviews. Elder Spirits will be there, and Medicine Wolf, and Gray Lords are invited.”

“Opportunities for me or you, Ms Hauptman?”

“For us both, especially if I’m running and you endorse me. It’ll depend on whether vamps are out, but if not it could be useful groundwork for when they are, and if they are useful damage control of whatever kind.”

“That’s … interesting. More apologies for my predecessors?”

I opened my hands. “Maybe. It’d play well around here, if not so well elsewhere. But you could do some repudiating without apologising. Building The Dalles was expedient, wrong, and enshrined values we are trying to leave behind. Put another way, consider you’ll be endorsing an Amerindian, and we are going to want _everyone’s_ votes.”

“Yeah, we are. Mid-June? Hard dates would be good.”

“Have someone talk to the engineers and Medicine Wolf. It should be possible to hit any specific date.”

He was tickled by the idea of scheduling a river, and we rang off well pleased with one another. Gordon was very happy with news about trees I’d relayed via Jim, if charier about Thursday, and rang to say so, adding that I did fast work and Medicine Wolf was already talking to Underhill about rebuilding local ecosystems as land re-emerged. I reminded him to make sure anywhere except around the Falls, where we wanted mature trees with maximal glamour, plants still had most of their growing to do so carbon would be fixed. Then I had the same conversation with an equally happy Dan Strongbear, grabbing agreement while I could to invite Caroline and Penny, on careful notice, governors, and the Man.

That took care of Monday, and after I’d updated Mary and made sure Caroline and Penny were on for next week, Tuesday morning got hijacked by a call from the governors in question, briefed by the Man. They saw the fairness of the basic deal, and after checking financial details were good with it ; they also agreed federal and bi-state declaration of the reborn falls as sacred land was proper, but Oregon wasn’t keen on rerouting I84 and Washington wondered about Anglos in Wishram. On Wishram I was conciliatory — if people owned houses they had a right to be there, however they might be gently encouraged to sell — but on I84 I went for moral sticks as well as practical carrots, pushing hard on including any land with immediate vantage over the reborn falls. The highway wouldn’t be where it was if they hadn’t been flooded, it was going to be further away from the river anyway, all First People were prepared to be _very_ civilly disobedient on this one, not only in the North-West, and anyway, (a) if they left I84 where it was idiot tourists would regularly get eaten, meaning headaches all round, and (b) it could be rerouted onto the path of County Highway 143 from just west of Fairbanks to east of the Deschutes confluence, with tunnels and easy grades only the largest semis wouldn’t like, which shouldn’t be there anyway but on the railway, which was also going to have to move, meaning a new bridge. I didn’t expect or get rapid agreement, but did get an invitation to address a joint session of the legislatures they’d just set up for a week’s time, in Olympia. Then we went on to First People and registration, which they found easier, and circled back to what reborn Celilo Falls would become, which they didn’t.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, sir, ma’am, the Columbia Restoration is reinvigorating Amerindian culture along the whole river system. Tribal meetings are up, so is economic activity, and both will be more so as salmon return. Old culture will be reborn, but it’s also new culture, with Elder Spirits out, and Anglos for once walking a little more warily. A new political calculus — but get behind it and there can be all sorts of benefits. For starters, you should expect more viable independent Amerindian candidates in state elections than you’ve ever seen, and high-profile campaigning — not least by my pretty-much father, which will be fun.” My voice was dry, and they had alarmed looks. “So you might want to look at minority hiring, and any outstanding matters involving First People. You might also be happy with photo ops as well as real benefits of integration.”

They agreed they might, and we kicked that around, but Washington had another question.

“Ms Hauptman, the President seems to believe you intend to run in November, and not for my office, but he was very clear _nothing_ is to be said in public until you do, as a matter of national security. Is there anything you can tell us? Frankly, while we will of course heed the President, we are very puzzled.”

I spoke carefully. “Not really, sir, save that the President’s reasons will become clear at some point, and you, with all governors, will receive a confidential briefing at some earlier point.”

“I see. Or don’t. Something preternatural, I suppose.” He shook his head in frustration. “And the request you made to the FEC?”

“Is straight up, sir. What electoral law says about use of the internet and social media is pretty thin, and as I shall be doing things differently I need informed advice. I can give you timing, in that if nothing pops I’ll give Taylor and Ligatt an interview next week, after Olympia.”

“You’re announcing?”

“Not quite, sir. Wait and see.”

“Huh. It’s gonna be another interesting year.”

Oregon agreed. “I’ll say. I’ve been wondering about your national poll numbers for a while, Ms Hauptman, because if I had anything like them I’d be running for my party’s nomination in a flash.”

“But I don’t have a party, ma’am, thank God. The party system is, if not bust, seriously unfit for purpose, and fixing it is local business before it’s national. I’d like to think that might get a start this year, and given the consensus about getting greener, the Paths of the Manitou, Assertion, and Mercy, and improving Amerindian relations and integration, the Pacific North-West could do some serious leading the way.”

Oregon’s gaze was shrewd. “Especially if you run, and even more so if you win, which you just might. An independent victory would be an almighty wake-up call for sure. So would a preternatural president.”

“File under ‘Coyote’, ma’am.” And Ghan Buri Ghan saying ‘The wind is changing’, but I didn’t know if either read Tolkien. “I can’t say more yet, but I give you my word the best interests of all citizens are being upheld.”

They didn’t like being out of the loop but we wrapped up logistics about Olympia — next week was starting to look seriously crowded — and (consulting Jenny’s notes) the exact wording of the bill I’d be suggesting. That was the morning gone, and I was eating lunch when Coyote turned up, almost as pleased with me as he habitually was with himself, wanting to know how I’d wrangled Gray Lords, how soon after Thursday he and others might be needed for the call to Bonarata, and about wooden bullets. Bran had test results when I’d taken him back to Aspen Creek, and as we’d passed through the Garden of Manannán’s Death Underhill had shown up, so a first batch had already been delivered and processed. Opting to save time I called Leslie, told Coyote what he wanted that she didn’t need to know, receiving news in return, and when she arrived took them and a Glock down to the range in the basement. Adam had some of those blocks of plastic with the same densities as flesh and bone, and while we still couldn’t be sure slugs would work on vamps they surely worked on plastic.

“They’ll work, alarmingly efficient daughter.” Coyote extracted one from the backstop and smelt it. “No idea what wood this is, but it has as much magic as wood. We could try one out.” He looked at Leslie hopefully. “The seethe in Las Vegas is _ghastly_ , you know. Plenty of vamps there you Feebs would charge with multiple murders in a heartbeat, if they had one.”

“Un huh. No alerting anyone to what we have ahead of time. I won’t be mentioning these to Bonarata. Surprises should be pristine.”

“Spoilsport.”

Leslie cocked her head. “No murders would be good. Bonarata?”

“Yeah. I’m not going to call him Master of the Night when we’re aiming to beat him. He has real power, lots of it, but there’s smoke and mirrors too. Vamps are like that, Leslie, with very few exceptions. Constant mind games are a given.”

“Noted. I’ve had a copy of your briefing, so thanks. Come Thursday, we can start some wider distribution, yes?”

“Not quite.” We headed back to the kitchen, and I provided coffee and brownies. “Come Thursday, assuming we agree a date to contact Bonarata, I need a window for a very difficult conversation, and then to call Marsilia, through whom the call to Bonarata has to go. I don’t know how long it’ll take to set up, but as I have to travel Saturday we’re talking next week. _Then_ we can stop worrying so much about anything leaking where it shouldn’t, though it will still be absolutely no press comment by anyone. You and yours remain low risk targets before the ultimatum, and at first they’ll look to kill the messenger.”

“Yeah. You seem less bothered about that than you were.”

“I’m bothered, I just have plans. And while I will do my damnedest to get Bonarata to see reason, you realise, SAC, that there will very probably be some dismissing? If I can dismiss any vamp who comes at me or mine, I will, and that’s strategic as well as tactical. Unless any are real newbies, there won’t be bodies, just dust and clothing.”

She’d sat up when I called her SAC, and gave me a wry smile.

“I did talk about that with the AED, Ms Hauptman, and we agreed the fate of anyone who tries to kill you is not a problem. Personal effects without bodies might be, if they ID citizens or foreign nationals. And several people would like to analyse some of that dust.”

“I figured. We get first dibs on effects, for intel, but anything left can come to you, and IDs can be listed. Forget kin notification — it’d be a waste of time and might spook something. And dust … maybe. Charles is probably curious. So far as I know it’s harmless, but not something I’d keep around and Adam could tell you it tastes as awful as anything can, Dead Sea fruit coming in a very poor second.”

“So could I.” Coyote made a face. “Smells vile too, especially with my nose. I gave up dismissing vamps in anything except human form fast. But Mercy’s right it’s harmless. Grave mould. The taste is the residue of their magic, like black witchcraft.”

Leslie understood Dead Sea fruit, which turn to ashes in the mouth, and grimaced. “No offence, but that’s one thing that makes me glad I only have two legs. I hear you both, but some analysis will be insisted on.”

“Bring a clean evidence vacuum, then. A standard bag would be enough. And if I find any vamp leftovers, I’ll call.” She blinked, Coyote grinned, and I decided I owed her some warning. “One heads-up as well, SAC, which is that if you receive reports of _very_ unexpected weather hereabouts, in the small hours, don’t worry but do mosey on over.”

“Unexpected weather?”

“Nothing destructive to humans, animals, or property, I promise. And there may soon be more earth fae, and what the Man called huorns, here and at the Freed’s place.”

“There will?”

“And at Celilo Falls.” Coyote gave a lazy smile. “Did the Man tell you about Mercy’s lovely plans for our sacred space?”

He hadn’t, and Leslie wound up laughing, genuinely appreciating an embargo on photography despite concerns. I threw moving I84 and the railway into the mix, and pulled her onside with our sincere desire to prevent idiot tourists from getting themselves eaten, which would waste her time as well as ours. Wishram came up, and I gave her more about the Yakama’s plans to buy any property Anglo owners would sell, in time peacefully eliminating the problem. Then it was back to vamps and how to deal with isolated dwellings, with the dubious evidential status of ghosts in warranting SWAT assaults and the sorts of things needed with bereaved sheep — a term that raised Leslie’s eyebrows.

“I know, but they mostly are. Mind-slaved, and we meant what was said in the briefing. The only difference with full-blown Renfields is an implanted purpose. Feeding makes a magical connection, regular feeding a stronger one, and when that gets mixed with two-way addiction and sex I’m told can be mind-blowing, sheep covers it well enough.”

“Mind-blowing sex with dead people?”

“Un huh. _True Blood_ wasn’t wrong about that, though how much is mind games and how much long experience, swinging both ways, I have no idea.”

“Vamps are bi?”

“Pretty much. It’s in the films if you think about it. Anyway, point is sheep will need human care, especially if bereaved, and to be approached as warily as any human who might have a gun, but they have no special powers _unless_ they are in the mid- to end-game of being Turned. What can be done about those except one of these” — I tapped a wooden bullet — “I don’t know.” I glanced at Coyote. “Do you? Then no-one on our side does, though my difficult Friday conversation might change that.”

“OK, Mercy. I’ll make sure that bit of briefing is understood. With vampires who sign-up is there any way of checking their … human companions are not being mentally coerced?”

“Maybe, but it’s not simple. Medical checks are, and if weight and general health are OK, so are they. It’s usually neglect or overfeeding that kills, and gauntness is a prime indicator.”

“Like other junkies, then.”

“Yup. But even if it doesn’t sit right to leave them be, you actually want to do exactly that with as many as possible. Several thousand vamps mean several tens of thousands of sheep, so full rehab, which would have to be magical as well as medical, would be a major budget item. It’d also leave a bunch of hungry vamps.”

“There’s that, yeah.” She shook her head. “I am so not looking forward to the reaction when this all breaks.”

“In a funny way I am, actually. It’s a boil that needs lancing, and I don’t like all the cloak-and-dagger.”

“That’ll be interesting in a president.”

Coyote laughed, and I stuck out my tongue, but Leslie had a point I thought about as I finally got to do some baking. Coyote stayed, sharing campaigning ideas that were pretty good, as well as some that weren’t. Much as I disliked the idea of stump speeches, I agreed to a tour of reservations, and as they’d attract heavy media I called Mary in to note putative dates. She was intrigued, and stayed, smiling as I was bullied into accepting a longer itinerary than I wanted, happily accepted a Sacajawea SP rally that would bring very many First People to town, flatly vetoed anything more than _very_ minor jokes, and shrugged at her question about being _de facto_ endorsed by Medicine Wolf.

“It’s not just an advantage, Mary, it’s a big part of why I’m running. People who want to vote for me because I’m on good terms with the preternatural are sensible, and if Medicine Wolf is in shot so much the better. Ditto Elder Spirits. Fae are trickier as a foreign power but Medicine Wolf ought to have a vote. It was unquestionably born here.”

“And Canada.” Coyote grinned. “Votes in both would be right, and the Canadians might do it, if asked. They were happy with you at Wazzu.”

“Now that’s a thought. No address, though.”

“Or birth certificate.” Coyote was still grinning. “Now _that_ you could do something pretty good with. A hashtag of # _BaracksRevenge_.”

I was glad to laugh. “I can live with that.” So could a lot of people, I’d bet. “We could get the court hearing any challenge to sit _al fresco_ , to hear Medicine Wolf. The arguments against enfranchising it ought to be good for some ridicule.”

Coyote nodded. “I’m becoming quite fond of this hashtag business. Which reminds me, register your Indian name, as well as your Anglo one.”

“She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars?”

“In full.”

I gave him a look, but he wasn’t wrong. “Un huh. Elf-friend as well?”

“Why not?”

“Thirteen words?”

“So? It’s not like you need to fit it on a credit card. And you do need to work on your Siksiká.”

That was true, and it didn’t come easily. I’d picked up some Salish from Charles and others, but my Siksiká was non-existent, and once Mary left I endured a lesson while I finished baking and for a while afterwards, though my dear da did promise some magic to make it stick. I could at least say my name, and apologise for not being fluent, which was better than not, though a Babel Fish would still be useful.

Jesse got home with news Ms Zeeman was cautious about escalated risk, other students being involved, and reserved judgement on casting until we could brief her more fully. Jesse was mostly disappointed, though I wondered if there was a touch of relief, and pushed a little, finding she did still want but had been wondering about workload management if she was also campaigning. My instinct was to insist ‘normal’ activities came first, but I needed her reaching out to her peers, and special events call for special responses. One’s mom doesn’t usually run for the presidency, so while I cooked we thrashed out a mutually satisfactory agreement we’d both monitor. Coyote agreed to stay, wanting to eat, and he and Jesse got into hashtag and other strategies that sometimes made me laugh and more often made my head hurt, but would probably work all the same.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Wednesday I was usually due at _Clean Up the Basin!_ , but this week senior staffers and accountants were meeting me at Jenny’s, and I went early to brief her and Andrea on what I’d been up to — or about half of it. I was interested by their expressions, Jenny’s shocked, Andrea’s happy.

“No tourists or photography at all, Mercy?”

“With luck. And no photographs of the house from this side of the river, nor the Freed’s house and garden.”

“Well, that’s welcome. Harassment cases eat time. The Falls, though … I’d anticipate legal challenges from more than one source.”

“Media and tourists?”

“Certainly. Maybe the ACLU.”

“They can go whistle, Jenny. Exclusion of non-Amerindians from sacred space will be backed by federal and bi-state legislation, and while someone standing in a public space has the right to point a camera wherever, there is no right to have photos show anything. You should point out to any court hearing a challenge that it has no authority over anything Medicine Wolf wants to plant on itself.” Jenny blinked and Andrea swallowed a laugh. “What I would like help with, Andrea, is selling the major positive of having a Sacred Space that, besides being very good for First People, and useful as a preternatural meeting-place, is simply not available for grabbing, physically or digitally. Sacred means sacred, period.”

“Oh yes. It’ll be OK, Jenny. Bet you that after the initial shock and grumbling, and some fatal, or at least very embarrassing, attempts to breach the ban, people will become proud of it.”

“Maybe, Andrea. I’ll think about it. And the media will never give up.” Jenny shook her head. “Fatal attempts?”

I shrugged. “I won’t rule it out. We will tell everyone clearly that there are many animals with teeth in residence, including rattlers, weaponised to defend against intrusion. Trespassers are unlikely to be shot, but winding up dead is well on the cards.”

“Children?”

“Were discussed, but I’m not sure how discriminating grizzlies, cougars, and rattlers can be. Huorns at the perimeter catching any stray kids and raising an alarm should be possible, though.”

Jenny blinked again. “The _trees_ can raise an alarm?”

“Yup. We just have to sort out how, and alerting whom. They’ll always be Yakama about, but I haven’t been briefed by Medicine Wolf or Underhill about exactly what they’re doing. Soon, I hope.”

Jenny gave up objecting, though she looked put out. “And you’ve briefed the governors?”

“Only about this. They did ask about the other, and I told them I’d be giving an interview next week after talking to both legislatures. Unless someone pulls a last-minute stunt there should be strong Yakama and First People acceptance right along the river. Briefing campaigns in other basin states and Canada should be ready to roll.”

They both nodded.

“Already are, Mercy.” Andrea had been liaising with Mary about that. “And not a problem. The basic deal is plainly fair and equitable, and I’ve spoken to state treasurers as well as senior people at the Fed. As it’s a programme dealing only with re-emergent land, they’re all good with low interest, long-term loans as needed. I’m still a way short of quantifying what that’s really going to mean, though Riva and others are being helpful, but it’ll be a clear precedent and path of least resistance.”

“Good, and my warm thanks to you both for all you’ve done on this. The full-river revival will benefit enormously. Oh, and another point about sacred teeth. Without dams, river journeys will pick up, so it’ll be a necessary portage and rest place. The portage for non-Amerindians will be a _lot_ longer, and again they can whistle — _they_ made it so no-one could canoe the river’s length, and can’t say they need to start doing so now.”

“And if non-Amerindians approach by canoe?”

“Who knows, Jenny? Swept over the Falls by sudden currents, probably, after which it’ll depend on how skilled and equipped they are. Unless the salmon go for them, in which case they’d be toast.” She looked pained and I thought about it. “Some kind of fish snack, anyway. First People and Elder Spirits are not kidding. There’s never been Anglo respect, and the abrogation by bribery of 1855 still rankles, badly.”

“I know.” Andrea half-grinned. “Riva gave me an earful about that, and I was hashing it over with my dad the other night. He’ll be all in favour of this plan because it begins to answer what he thinks our major strategic need, learning to keep strictly our oath with the Fae, accepting it is not up for profitable, expedient, or partisan alteration.” She shrugged. “Uphill struggle, but I didn’t think he was wrong.”

“Interesting.” Jenny frowned. “How is Celilo Falls a first answer?”

“Another similar but, no offense, lesser boundary we need to respect. And frankly, Jenny, though I hope there are very few, some selfish and faithless folks getting themselves made into Antigonus sandwiches or whatever is fine by me. Mercy?”

I registered Antigonus sandwiches with amusement, but I was staring because an idea had hit me with a snap of intuition. I spun it, and decided I was being coyote smart, though other opinions were wanted — but there was no point getting them before finding out if it was workable.

“Sorry, Andrea. Light-bulb moment. What do you think your dad would say if I asked him to be my running mate?”

There was a silence in which Brent and, more cautiously, Jenny gave me thumbs-ups, while Andrea blinked.

“For real?”

“I think so. Older, human, Anglo, male, eastern, politically clean, preterophile, experienced debater, historian, well used to slapping down the idiot unruly. I like him a lot, as do Adam and Jesse, and if he’s willing and we do it, four years as Veep ought to be good for his pension.”

“There’s that.” Jenny was back to sounding dry, but she’d met Frank and liked him too. It was hard not to like someone who’d co-raised Andrea, and he’d clearly been the source of her artless charm. “I think that’s a very good call, Mercy. You’re right he’d add a lot of balance, with useful complementary experience.” Her com buzzed and a secretary let us know people were arriving. “I’d think he could get unpaid leave to campaign with a promise of holding his job open, given his length of service.”

“Huh. Can you ask him, please, Andrea, urgently, and give him my cell and landline numbers? I’m busy from tomorrow night into next week, and we’d need to be on Adam’s system.” I thought hard. “There’s a thing I’ve been waiting on … well, events as well as clearance, to brief you both about, and this will advance the timing, but my hands are tied until. Mmm. Unless … I am free tonight, so if you want to head over you can be in on the discussion. You too, Jenny, though if what I’m wondering about happens it will be something you’ll need to keep _very_ quiet about for a while.”

Jenny’s gaze sharpened, but Andrea just nodded.

“OK. I’m trying to take your request in, Mercy, and I dunno what Mom or Dad are doing tonight, but if, then sure. He’ll be delighted you’re running and flattered silly to be asked, whatever he decides.”

“He’d do better to run for the woods.” So would I, but I was increasingly happy with this idea. “Though you could tell him it’s time to stop teaching history and start making it.”

Andrea and Jenny grinned before we stood to greet staffers and accountants, and after offering thanks for coming Jenny handed over to me. News that I was considering running and would make that public soon brought cheers that had me blushing, but as soon as I _was_ running a serious firewall between charitable and political fundraising was needed. Jenny took over again.

“Please listen very carefully. Mercy holds copyright in images used by _Clean Up the Basin!_ , and will remain entitled to income from licensed use. Once the money is hers as taxed income she can spend it how she wants, including political donations to herself. You are entitled to make donations from your own taxed incomes, but it is essential no money received by _Clean Up the Basin!_ go anywhere near political accounts, and that images licensed for charitable purposes not be used politically, so as we can expect fierce scrutiny from media, if not authorities, new procedures are being instituted.”

The detail was dull unless you were an accountant, but some security issues — including counterfeit campaign-ware, and image theft for attack ads — had me taking notes. I came in again to sketch what my political fundraising would look like, which dropped jaws and brought more cheers that pleased me better. Then we could wrap, reminding everyone _nothing_ should be said to _anyone_ until my interview, but Jenny kept me back.

“Can you say anything more about events you’re waiting on, Mercy?”

“Not yet, Jenny, but you needn’t fret. The Man, AED Westfield, and SAC Fisher all know.”

“Ah.” I couldn’t say she relaxed, but a certain tension left her shoulders. “A major preternatural issue, then?”

“You could say, and yes, something campaigning honestly requires, but it really is complicated, Jenny, and who learns what when is critical.”

“I bet. I can come tonight if Frank’s free.”

“I’ll let you know. And it’s been hard not telling my dad you’re thinking about running, so that’ll be a relief.” Andrea gave me a look. “Though what I’ll do if your supercool rubs off on him I have no idea.”

I was still laughing when Brent and I got home, a little bemused by being thought supercool but enjoying it, and as I’d given myself a lot more calls to make I got on with them. Adam was surprised but positive, as Mary had been, and as Bran was talking to ap Lugh when I rang him I switched to a three-way configuration and laid it out again. Neither knew Frank, but both agreed with my reasoning about balancing the ticket, and seemed amused by my seeking approval.

“I wasn’t offering a veto, Bran, just checking with however many collective millennia of experience.”

“Of course, Mercedes.” Ap Lugh smiled. “But do remember neither of us has ever sought elected office. I inherited power, while Bran Cornick won it. We are as much novices in this matter as you.”

“Far be it from me to contradict you, Gwyn ap Lugh.” Much. “Will any Alphas have objections, Bran?”

“I cannot see why they should.” He smiled too. “And once they’ve met you in Denver, Mercy, I doubt any will challenge you on almost anything. Your dominance will surprise them nicely.”

“As Skuffles does fae, perhaps.”

“That sending surprises everyone, Gwyn ap Lugh, including me, and you should see it play coyote-in-the-middle.” He blinked. “But there’s one other thing, which is Frank Lafferty being with me if I’m travelling by cloak. Do you mind if I ask Underhill if she’ll allow it, with your let?”

He raised an elegant eyebrow. “You’re becoming very skilled in subtly coercive phrasing, Mercy, which is a compliment, and not in the least. We anticipated that request. Tell me, if you will, did Frank Lafferty being father to one who holds a liferose weigh in your decision?”

I hadn’t heard that term before. “It was in there, Gwyn ap Lugh, but this one was coyote inspiration, more gestalt than conscious. Who to ask has been a headache, and Andrea mentioned her father when we were talking about something else. Liferose is a nice word. Is there perhaps some fae lore I should know about?”

“Not particularly, but however liferoses are no more than tokens of Underhill’s favour, patterns do tend to form about their recipients.”

“And the more so, perhaps, with my cloak at large?”

“I suspect so. It is interesting a serendipitous gift so soon proves useful. And before you ask, yes, Ms Lafferty’s liferose makes it likely Underhill will be happy for her to pass through, as well as her father and, if it so falls out, mother. They have my let also, but no more humans without your further asking.”

As I’d already been wondering about Mrs Lafferty I expressed gladness, and for once rang off on Bran. Next up was Medicine Wolf, who’d read an eager Frank when he visited, and cheered me by saying he seemed a good choice, in so far as it understood federal politics. I gave updates on the midnight sunshine plan, which pleased it. Coyote was a tougher sell, but he was grumbling mostly because he’d hoped for someone famous he could play a joke on, and the idea of a running mate well up on Amerindian history as well as the preternatural was welcome. Finally, there was the Man, whom I messaged to ask for his political sense and say I was going to have to do a bit of briefing sooner than expected, and would of course require oaths of secrecy. To my surprise he called a few minutes later, intrigued and happily between dull meetings, listened to my reasoning, and after cogitating gave me a thoughtful thumbs-up, asked when I’d pop the question, and offered to take a private call from Frank.

I was grateful, but once he’d rung off decided that was enough of that, so I collected the cloak and Brent before taking those three steps to the Garden of Manannán’s Death. I took one bench, Brent another, leaving room for Underhill to sit beside me, and admired the continuing changes while we waited. The tiny white flowers twined around bench legs were still there, but had been joined by small golden ones that looked wonderful and added a spicy note to the sweet smell of roses, while a fountain had appeared, the water — I blinked — leaping _up_ a chain of bowls before sheeting down to a surrounding pool. Brent had seen it, and we exchanged a long look, knowing another of Underhill’s jokes had been filed. It might be on Manannán, he having been of a watery persuasion, and I was pondering it when Underhill strolled in.

“Do you like it, Mercedes Elf-friend?”

I rose and curtsied, seeing Brent bow. He got a nod, and I got a smile.

“I do, Underhill, and enjoy its humour. I was wondering if there was a reference to Manannán.”

“Of sorts, for he disapproved of fountains. A foolishness, for water does not mind playing. And I have enjoyed talking irrigation with Medicine Wolf. My trees are pleased you think of them, so you again make me glad.”

“As you have made me, and many, Underhill. The bullets, especially, are a most welcome gift, and my not-exactly father was wondering what name the wood might bear. Gwyn ap Lugh tells me also that I relieve boredom, and am happy to do so.”

She laughed, but not her dangerous one. “Indeed you have. The wood is stonethorn, filmed with its own incompletion.” She gave me a look that combined whimsy and something serious but not hostile. “The trees were interested by my command. Your fame spreads. And Gwyn ap Lugh told me of your conversation. Frank Lafferty is welcome to pass in your company.”

“I am glad. And his wife and daughter, who bears a liferose?”

“Certainly. Gwyn ap Lugh is not wrong about patterns.” I got another look I couldn’t decipher. “But it is not my magic that shapes this, Mercedes, but yours. Oh yes it is — Coyote both loosed and channelled in you is at work, as Medicine Wolf cheerfully agreed. Your cloak and liferoses are magnifiers, and it is your intent to which they respond.”

I shook my head ruefully. “I was afraid of that.”

Underhill laughed again, with an edge. “And rightly, for you do not yet know your own strength even as you change Overhill for the better.”

“And yet I know my ignorance. I’m making it all up as I go along.” I shrugged. “It’s what coyotes do, Underhill.”

“I was not objecting.” She came closer, patting my arm with a sunny smile. “And as Gwyn ap Lugh says so often, you are integrating all you have gained swiftly and well. Do not be surprised there are synergies.”

“I’ll try.” My smile was wryer. “I suspect the synergies will be surprising enough for all. But there is nothing that should alarm me in the … unexpected convenience of Andrea Lafferty having a liferose?”

“Not in the least.”

“Good. May I ask if there are at present Overhill any other liferoses than the three I know of?”

“You may, and there are not. It has been long and long since any dared ask me for such things.” Power deepened in her gaze. “Rare things are rare for good reason, but your recommendation is one I would think on carefully, should need arise.”

“I have no such plans, Underhill, nor would I presume. But there is one matter you might wish to talk to Gwyn ap Lugh about, if he hasn’t spoken of it already.”

I told her what I’d said regarding the Fae embassy, and was interested ap Lugh hadn’t, so I added fuller reasoning about longevity contributing experience to the Path of Mercy, leaving her thoughtful.

“There would of course be some requesting access who will be hostile, or charlatans, but also true preterophiles, as the Lafferties are, and scholars who know their old tales. Perhaps genuine study that serves the Fae, telling truths it is better humans know, might be … noticed, in some small way pleasing to such natures.”

“Maybe so.”

I wasn’t going to push, but did point out there really was a strong case for having the embassy open while the POTUS to whom a life-of-his-office-rosebush had been gifted was still in it.

“I stand to be corrected, Underhill, but it has been my impression that while there were serious concerns about whom to appoint ambassador, and doubtless other matters that are no business of mine, it has latterly been … distaste and inertia that occasion continuing delay.”

“I do not disagree, Mercedes, and the point is well made.” She smiled again. “You are becoming well-versed in goosing Gwyn ap Lugh. Do keep it up. And name to me Andrea Lafferty and her parents, that I may acknowledge them.”

“Gladly, Underhill. Then my only other question is about the timing of any vegetation that may arrive. I will be glad to facilitate it in any way I can, but my schedule is becoming very busy.”

We talked mobile trees, roses, earth fae, glamour, and carbon fixing for a while, and things that concerned me became clearer. Placing Overhill trees that had grown Underhill did not extend Underhill itself, as it was always elsewhere, but did extend her awareness to some degree, and there were enough seeds wanting to sprout that significant reforestation was available if wanted ; which it would be. Closer to home, I was assured that if I greeted trees when I could, none would be offended by my not doing it sooner, and earth fae could do all that was needed. Underhill seemed to have a soft spot for them, regretting that in her nature her gardens did not need their tending, and glad better opportunities Overhill were beginning to come to them — which got us, improbably, onto steamed vegetables, and I agreed to send an aluminium steamer to Walla Walla provided a sensible troll was on the gate when the poor delivery guy or gal had to knock. We made farewells with some regret, lessened in my case by getting back to discover only moments had elapsed and I hadn’t missed Andrea’s call.

It came in half-an-hour later, and though she still looked distracted she grinned as she told me her father was more dazed than flattered, while her mother had been reduced to very uncharacteristic silence, but both were willing to talk, and could head home early by 6 Pacific.

“Excellent.” I grinned back. “Slight change of plans, though, as I’d like to invite them to dinner here. Come by at 6 and we’ll get them by cloak. Oh, and your gift is properly called a liferose, I learn.” For once her jaw dropped, and I grinned again. “Gotcha. But it’s all good, Andrea — I’ve cleared it with Gwyn ap Lugh and with Underhill for all of you.”

Abruptly her eyes narrowed. “You really do want him to say yes, don’t you? That’s a whacking bribe, Mercy.”

Taken aback, I sobered. “I do, Andrea, yes, but it’s not a bribe — say rather an earnest. One part of the deal for him would be an inside track on preternatural affairs, just as one part for me, and others, is that he is a preterophile. And travel by cloak might well be asked of him, if and when, so better to experience it now. Bringing them here serves security, which really does matter, and depending on how the conversation goes Adam’s system allows calls to others whose acquaintance he would need to make. There’ll be no steamrollering, I promise — if he’s not willing, given the likely costs and strains, or your mom vetoes, I will accept that without demur, and some envy, frankly. God knows I understand the calculus. But I am going to give it my very best shot, because when I thought of him as a running mate my coyote brain gave a happy shiver, and I’ve learned to heed it closely when it does that.”

Andrea had throttled back as I spoke, and slowly nodded. “OK. Sorry, Mercy, but it really is taking some getting used to. My dad’s a history teacher, and my rock. He’s not half of a probably winning presidential ticket!”

“Yet.” She stared at me some more. “I may be beginning to enjoy dropping myself right in it, Andrea, but I’m not doing it alone.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

By the time Andrea’s mom called, mildly freaked, to say she and her husband were waiting, Andrea was as near to coming unglued as I’d ever seen. I’d done the Underhill dos-and-don’ts briefing while I set meat roasting, and she’d been listening, but antsy, and in a very Andrea way both sharply analytical and guileless.

“I’m sorry to be so fidgety, Mercy, but it’s not just anxiety. I know I’ve been very lucky, through Jenny, in knowing you, and meeting so many wonderful beings. It’s a privilege and a pleasure. I really do like the preternatural. But just as I have no desire to become a wolf, and understand exactly why you’re so pleased about protecting Celilo Falls from photography, so I’ve been content Underhill is forbidden to humans, including me. The President was a necessary exception, and taking Jesse was forced on you. But now you’re inviting me in, I just don’t know what to think. Or what I feel. It’s … not usual for me.”

“Huh. Makes sense enough, Andrea, and I’m sorry it’s a price for you to pay. I didn’t anticipate that. But I’m clear on three things you might not be.” She gave me a look, and I nodded, holding up a finger. “One is that the primary reason Underhill gave you and Jesse liferoses, and me the cloak, is that we all helped the fae. Some of your help was indirect, like Jesse’s, shaping a situation that suited them as well as me, but not all. Ap Lugh heard you suggest _I do not need enemies to know who I am_ , which has worked _very_ well for them financially and politically, and that evening he suggested Underhill wouldn’t mind giving Jesse and you liferoses. It was a way of framing what he really wanted, which was the Presidential … liferose-bush, but today he called yours a serendipitous gift, and seemed to think it like casting his bread upon the waters. Bottom line is when he met you, he approved, and liked your style, as he likes mine.” Except when he didn’t, but life’s not all roses. I shrugged. “You respect the Fae and Underhill, and do things that help them, so they respect you back, and mutual respect opens space for further dealings.”

“I thought I was just doing my job.”

“Not just, Andrea, doing it superbly, above and beyond by a long way — so well you’ve been pulled far deeper into wolf territory than most humans get. You took Medicine Wolf in your stride. Is this so different?”

“Well … no, but … _Underhill_ , Mercy. Elsewhere and elsewhen to everything. Centuries lost or gained.”

“All of that, but also a friend, in her fashion, and a very useful short-cut, as well as an exceptionally potent resource when she wishes to be. If you want a more practical answer, I’m more than half-expecting a legal claim that a president shouldn’t take very low carbon-footprint shortcuts through foreign territory, and the only human testimony available right now is from Jesse and the Man.”

It gave her something to chew on, brow creasing.

“The second thing is that where Fae are concerned, and Underhill, I and mine stand in a new space. It is _not_ safe — nothing to do with such power ever is — but it’s a lot safer than I would have imagined possible. By Prince Gwyn ap Lugh’s word no fae shall harm me while all should heed me, and by Underhill’s none shall harm me or mine in the Garden of Manannán’s Death. We’re well into mutual back-scratching, and from the way Gray Lords are accepting my insistence that no-one owes anyone, all gifts and gladnesses being in balance, they know they’re profiting. And harming one you owe is a big no-no from way back, so honour should be working in my favour. Then factor in Medicine Wolf, Bran, and the Elder Spirits, and though I’ll do the hospitality spell every last time, because, d’oh, Gray Lords, I mostly trust the ones I’m dealing with.”

She absorbed that, blinking.

“And the third thing is that this is Phase Two of the Accords and my primary policy to cement peaceful human–preternatural and inter-preternatural relations. Celilo Falls is one part of it, my putative candidacy another, and any way you cut it that means maximally engaging the Fae with the Path of Mercy. Which they actually want, or trolls wouldn’t have been so helpful. It’s why I’m into Underhill as reforester, and there are other things. This now is … peripheral, though if your dad accepts it will become less so, but if you’re around me, whether I run or win or neither, closer contact with Gray Lords and Underhill is inevitable. So you’re right this is another step, a big one, but it’s not the first and won’t be the last.”

She was looking happier, if still bemused, and once her mom called she got back her usual briskness as we collected Brent and I summoned an arch — until we walked into the Garden of Manannán’s Death, and her face went dreamy while her eyes went wide.

“Oh … my. It’s so beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? Underhill’s still adding to it. The fountain’s new. But we must observe courtesy. Underhill, I name to you Andrea Lafferty, here with your let and Gwyn ap Lugh’s, and one to whom you have given a liferose.”

Andrea bowed deeply, and her smile widened as Underhill chimed the promised acknowledgement.

“Your gift of the liferose made me most glad, Underhill, as being here now does, seeing the wonder of this garden …”

She realised just how peculiar the fountain was, and the smile became a laugh of sheer pleasure.

“Right response. Underhill says Manannán didn’t like fountains — ex-sea-god _amour propre_ , I think — and I have a suspicion that particular water might have arrived here when he did, for the last time.” I shrugged. “He really did offend her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if other water features show up. The comedown from sea god to duckpond, say, has to hurt, even if you’re dead.”

Andrea gave me a long look, dreaminess clearing.

“Jesse always says your vengeance is legend, Mercy. You sound like you’re admiring a superior example.”

I grinned. “Yup. Though I don’t know if there _are_ ducks Underhill. Talking geese, maybe, or swans. But we should get on. We’ll be back directly, Underhill, with Andrea’s parents, Frank and Rachel Lafferty.”

I gave the street address, then GPS co-ords Adam had worked out, keeping a googled image in mind as well as a picture of the hall Andrea had shown me, and the cloak was once again spot on. Frank was smiling widely, presumably at having a magical arch appear, and his wife was looking mutinous as well as spooked, but both immediately gave their daughter hard, relieved hugs, that she returned before stepping back.

“Dad, you’ve met Mercy, but Mom hasn’t, and I think I’d better be formal, so let me introduce Mercedes Hauptman, Elf-friend and Troll-friend, Daughter of Coyote, and co-ranking Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, also called She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It. And her bodyguard, Brent Lanning, a lone wolf. Brent, Mercy, my mother and father, Rachel and Frank Lafferty.”

I gave Andrea a look as her parents nodded to Brent and stared at me. I offered my hand.

“All of that, I’m afraid, though plenty of wolves aren’t up to thinking of me as a co-Alpha yet, and it’s just Mercy, please, Mr and Mrs Lafferty.” We shook, and if I’d ever doubted it I knew I needed her on my side. “I do apologise for shanghaiing you both like this, as well as proposing a serious disruption of your lives.”

“Then Rachel, please, Mercy. And you have, rather, but when I managed to think through what Andrea told us about your possible candidacy I found I liked the idea, a lot.” She made a moue. “I’m far less keen on losing Frank for years to the resulting politics.”

“So’s Frank, frankly.”

From Andrea’s look that pun was familiar, but I grinned. “And rightly. But the only reason I’ve got this far with this insanity is that Jesse vetoed Adam vetoing it. And much as I didn’t like it at first, I am beginning to think it may be another wise bit of insanity.”

“As a lawyer, Mercy, wise insanity is not a term I’d care to defend in court.”

“I bet. But making friends with a fifteen-foot dire wolf who’s just trisected two innocent scientists doesn’t exactly come recommended, and that panned out pretty well.”

Andrea smiled, and Rachel blinked.

“That is … oddly true.”

“Strike one. But let’s go through before I try for number two.” I ran a swift version of Underhill dos-and-don’ts, made sure they had good grips on the cloak, and asked it to reopen the arch. We went through as easily as always, but it was a day for surprises because ap Lugh and The Dagda were considering the fountain with unreadable expressions. They turned as I reassured Brent and named Frank and Rachel Lafferty to Underhill ; the chime rang as Frank bowed and Rachel curtsied, so once they’d spoken words of gladness I gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, The Dagda, Andrea Lafferty you have met, and know her to hold a liferose of Underhill’s giving. These are her parents, Frank Lafferty and Rachel Lafferty. Frank, Rachel, these are Gwyn ap Lugh, once and again Prince of the Gray Lords and Master Underhill, and The Dagda, husband of The Morrígan.” More bows and curtsies received nods. “Would I be right to think you were contemplating Underhill’s … most pleasing and jesting vengeance?”

“We were, Mercy. I confess I heard your suppositions about _amour propre_ and a duckpond.” Ap Lugh gave me another unreadable look, but hey, I like feeding ducks. “It made Nemane laugh, for a wonder. Yet we came hither to meet your guests, Underhill for the first time. Andrea Lafferty, it is well to see you again, Underhill as Overhill, and well also to meet the parents of so good a daughter, already blessed by Underhill.” Andrea held it together, but flushed deeply. “Frank Lafferty, Rachel Lafferty, your daughter graces your names. Be welcome in the Garden of Manannán’s Death, now and whenever you travel with Mercedes Elf-friend, taking no step aside.”

They murmured gladness, and ap Lugh nodded.

“But we have one other warning, for in making her case to you, Frank Lafferty, Mercy will speak with my let of matters involving Fae policy. But for some while thereafter neither you nor your wife nor your daughter may speak of what you learn to any save full-blood fae, Mercy, and those she expressly allows to know. We have no expectation you would reveal what you should not, yet it is fair you know to heed us closely in this.”

It was all true but still a test, and I saw Frank pass with flying colours by standing straight, meeting both Gray Lords’ gazes, and giving his word to reveal no secret of the Fae without their or my permission. Rachel and Andrea followed, receiving formal acknowledgement and deeper nods. The Dagda gave me one too.

“You make interesting choices, Mercedes. And I say to you, Frank Lafferty, we have come to appreciate those choices richly, despite the Coyote chaos they often involve. She has turned the world a little, and we must turn with it to keep our balance, so do not needlessly fear doing so.”

“I’ll try not to, The Dagda. Yet there is needful fear also.”

“Always and everywhere, Frank Lafferty. That is one thing Manannán mac Lír forgot, to his mortal cost. But on the Paths of Mercy and the Manitou there is also hope, and that is not so common.”

“No, it isn’t.” Frank took a deep breath. “Even so, The Dagda, I can promise only to listen carefully to all Mercy has to say, for I will not commit myself against my wife’s or daughter’s will.”

The Dagda nodded, his beard doing what it did. “That is well enough, Frank Lafferty. I do not care to cross my wife’s will either.”

I nearly said that seemed wise, wondering if The Morrígan counted as a singular wife, but I had no desire to annoy Nemane or her other thirds, especially if I’d just made her laugh. A glance at ap Lugh told me what he wanted saying had been said, and as I thought giving all Lafferties a stiff drink Overhill was an increasingly good idea I wished both fae renewed joy in contemplating the Fountain of Uphill Justice, pleased when both blinked, and completed farewells to another chime. One, two, three, and we were back in the hall, less than ten minutes after we’d left. Adam and Jesse were waiting, with Jenny, and I swept everyone into the kitchen to add Darryl (subbing as chef) and Warren (on shift), thanking the cloak as I put it on a wooden hanger on the back of the door. Brent stayed in curiosity, though also due dinner. Wolves on two legs were known territory, as were kitchens, which helped, but no Lafferty refused a shot of whisky, and while those went down I filled people in on the fountain and meeting ap Lugh and The Dagda.

Darryl blinked. “Uphill justice?”

“It seemed right. No idea if they’ll accept it, or the duckpond idea.”

Jesse and Andrea spoke in unison, _Mercy’s vengeance is legend_ , and sent one another pleased looks.

I flapped a hand. “Pish, whatever that means. Old news. But Underhill’s vengeance, now … _that’s_ interesting. Aesthetic, subtle, highly amusing, and profoundly scornful. I begin to think Manannán had been _really_ pissing her off for a long time before he started doing it to me.”

“Her?” Frank decided one whisky was enough, and took a beer from Adam. “Underhill’s a she?”

“Who knows? Probably not in any real sense, but the only manifestation I’ve met looks like a girl of twelve. Motherland, not Fatherland, I suppose.”

“Huh. OK.” He frowned. “I’m surprised because while I know from old tales that … contact is possible, I’ve never read of any manifestation.” His look became wryer. “Not that I ever expected to visit at all.”

“Me either. It may be a very old phenomenon people knew better than to write down, or new. Medicine Wolf and Underhill had a problem talking, because, it said, _I’m all here and it is all somewhere else_. Manifestation as a speaking human was an answer, apparently, but don’t ask how. Oh, and if Andrea never told you, I … perhaps unwisely, though I’m beginning to wonder, inadvertently put the fae on their mettle when I told ap Lugh humour wasn’t their strongest suit. Still isn’t, but they’re practicing.”

Adam grinned at me. “The Path of Mercy doesn’t leave them much choice, love. And what fountains Underhill puts in her own gardens is her business. What matters, Mr and Mrs Lafferty, from the sound of it, is that the Gray Lords have given you a once-over, and pronounced blessing — and that matters because they are high on the list of beings who have pushed Mercy onto her present course.”

“They are, Mr Hauptman? And Frank, please.”

We did first names, and Adam nodded.

“Oh yes. Also Jesse, _de facto_ me, and the Marrok, as well as Coyote and the Man. We all thought hard about … severe improbability, and decided it was a good thing. Otherwise I’m going to keep out of this unless something really bothers me, because if you become Mercy’s Veep it’s to her vision you’ll need to be loyal” — I sent him a grateful look and a pack-bond kiss, receiving one back — “but I need to add a wolf warning to the fae one, I’m afraid. Whatever you decide, Frank, you and yours are going to learn a lot about wolves too, including restricted material. Your daughter already knows much, so you have a sounding board, but no-one else unless Mercy or I explicitly clear it.”

Rachel waved a hand. “Client confidentiality I get.” Her gaze swung. “What’s new, Andrea, is just how deeply these … various beings respect you. Love you, even.” I got a brief fierce look. “So _good_ a daughter, from Prince Gwyn ap Lugh? You always have been, but …”

Andrea flushed again, and I half-thought about saying something, but coming between mother and cub is very seldom a good idea.

“It surprised me too, Mom. All I know is I’ve tried to do my job, but Mercy tells me I’ve helped the Fae in ways I’m not sure I understand. What makes sense to me is that _she_ earned the cloak and the title Elf-friend, and some of that’s rubbed off.”

“Re-pish.” Everyone looked at me. “Andrea, I told you on national TV you were a really good advertisement for people, and I’m not the only being who’s noticed that, by a long way.”

“But you’re the one people are heeding, Mercy.”

“And they know I don’t come alone.” Not any more. “Which is most of the point. In any case, Frank, Rachel, if Andrea’s kept properly shtum, good for her, and be parentally proud as well as grateful both that you didn’t know before, and do now.”

“Oh yeah. We know that one.” Rachel had an assessing look. “So how is all this tonight going to work?”

“General stuff over dinner, to which our earth fae are invited.” I glanced at Andrea. “Pirandella’s request. They’re intrigued. Which reminds me.” I grabbed a pencil and scribbled a note as Adam gave me an enquiring look. “Got into steaming vegetables with Underhill, and promised to send her an aluminium set.” I waved off wolf looks of interest. “Once we’ve eaten, some of us will withdraw to broach trickier subjects, and perhaps make calls. I’m well aware there are potential deal-breakers in all this, and promise full disclosure, but I want you both to know what the deal that would be broken really is before I go there. Yes?”

“Ye-es. The deal-breakers are preternatural … secrets?”

“Partly, Rachel. National Security is involved, and the Man fully aware. So are wolves here, and Jesse, but neither Jenny nor Andrea, need to know not having been reached until tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Alright. Don’t misunderstand, please — I very strongly approve of what you’ve managed to do in the last eighteen months, and I know you can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs — but I am a lawyer and do not care to find myself on the wrong side of any law.”

“But you recognise the need for separate but equal justice where the preternatural is concerned, as with Paul Harris?”

“Pragmatically, yes. It’s a no-brainer. The principles to be enshrined in the letters of the law are trickier.”

“True. If I win, would you be interested in helping to write them? It’s high on the Farouts’ agenda.”

She blinked. “Farouts?”

“FBPA. No-one had a satisfactory vocalisation, so I made one up.”

Frank laughed. “I like it. And I assume as any campaign will be under intense scrutiny staying legal is a priority.”

‘”Oh yeah, but with all rights to self-defence reserved. Some of that is for after dinner, but it’s no secret plenty of BF and JLS types hate me, and there will be serious security, human and preternatural, so if weapons or magic have to be used at all they will very probably be used to kill.”

Rachel waved a hand. “That’s not illegal, or a problem. What concerns me, Mercy, practically and legally, is finance. God knows the rules are opaque and both parties wilfully corrupt, which won’t stop them whaling on any infringement they find.”

“No, but let me tell you what I’m planning.”

I laid out what I intended in greater detail than anyone except Adam, Jenny, Andrea, and Brent had yet heard, and the kitchen was quiet except for cooking noises as Darryl sorted vegetables. As I’d expected, there was no problem with my platform, such as it was, but the spread of candidates, human and preternatural, in races at all levels, surprised them, and the finance plan made Rachel whistle. She nodded approval when I told them an auditor from the FEC had been arranged, and seemed to have no more doubt than anyone I’d get a ringing public endorsement. The last thing made people laugh, and I got admiring looks.

“Now that I’d pay to see, Mercy.” Frank looked rueful. “You’re making it very hard not just to give in to vanity and agree.”

“No vanity involved, Frank. My primary requirement is a preterophile, because what we’re really about is cementing the Medicine Wolf Accords.”

“Yeah. Andrea said it was my thinking about that that caught your ear.”

“It made a big click, because it’s a prime reason the Fae are on board, and the Marrok and Elder Spirits. Ap Lugh is pragmatic about human inconstancy, but seriously wants the Man succeeded by someone they trust to observe the oath he swore, so habit beds down. It’s not the only reason — Gray Lords always have several — but it’s right up there. And as I told Andrea, the payoff is drawing the Fae onto the Path of Mercy. This isn’t for now, but I have ideas about that for the Cascadia evacuation. A one-off event will be a good start, but the real point is SOP. And the Fae aren’t unwilling, or Irpa and Þorgerðr wouldn’t have helped with that avalanche, but they need … tickling. Very old means too inert, sometimes.”

“Huh. Can’t say Gwyn ap Lugh or The Dagda looked inert.”

I grinned. “I’ve goosed them lately, as has Underhill, so no. But also yes. Because fae keep their word, always, they are rightly cautious about giving it, and since I killed Manannán and was given the cloak they’ve been wary of me, which makes a nice change but has not stopped them leaning on me in this, with good reason and some regret. I believe in _quid pro quo_ , but leaning on Gray Lords is always a bad idea, I play coyote-in-the-middle anyway, and for many reasons presently have a bizarrely potent amalgam of magics and political power among a wide range of preternaturals and, apparently, citizens at large. So I feel an obligation to try to be a useful coyote, which I begin to believe I really could be, and as I profoundly agree the urgent human priority is to set our oath in stone that will not weather, that means getting it as deeply and widely institutionalised as possible. Laws, of course, and constitution, but also practical, common life. Bottom line, if preternaturals are respected, helpful, eventually _necessary_ members of the polity, federal, state, and local, the prejudice that is the big danger can be maximally defeated.”

I sat back with the beer Warren flipped me, popping the cap.

“If it happens, I’ll have four years, and I’m talking about a process that’ll take decades, so it’s not only starting it, but starting it swiftly in ways that make it hard to stop. All sorts of stuff is part of it.” I counted. “Forensics, which bring law enforcement in and build SOP. The Columbia Restoration, for co-operation in unbuilding dams as a national and international beacon for cleaner energy at lower cost through human–preternatural alliance. Given Elder Spirits so is re-emergent First People’s culture. SAR, of course, because it’s right, everyone can get with rescues, and it’ll create a web of specific gratitudes as another kind of glue. And extensive reforestation that’ll boost carbon capture. Underhill will be supplying trees, and that’ll tie in with being aggressively green.” More than Frank blinked but it could wait. “Then education — preternatural 101 for everyone in school — some of which’ll centre on the Freed Pack at Wazzu, through _Living Free and Moonbound_ , though there’s a side plan for Public Safety films. And religion. I’ve made inroads, or Medicine Wolf has, but there’s plenty more pushing to do to develop theology. There are other things, but you get the point. So the second big click, Frank, is that you’re a professional educator specialising in American history and debate, by all accounts a very good one, and that’s exactly what we need.”

He was looking dazed, and I swallowed beer.

“I would want you to be a very hands-on Veep, with a brief in education. Preternatural school and college visits, conferences, whatever. Both the Paths of Assertion and Mercy make preternatural visibility a dominant mode. The haters had BF and have the JLS, however gutted, but what do ’philes have? So I’m asking if you’ll help me organise the positive, because the bottom line is that if kids grow up wary and respectful, not ignorantly fearful, we’ll be closer to the edge of the woods than we can get any other way. And Jesse’ll be into peer-to-peer education and social media.”

Jesse agreed, and I finished my beer.

“You all need time to think about all of that. I’m happy to answer questions, but if you’d rather have some privacy for a while, no problem.”

Frank was lost in thought, but Rachel shook her head.

“We’ll do that later, Mercy. And it’ll be hard for me to ask Frank not to do this, as you know. You’re as good in person as you are on TV.” Her gaze sharpened. “And that’s why you’re doing this yourself, aren’t you? Not just a wise insanity, but one it’d kill you not to try.”

“Jesse?”

“That was my clinching argument, Mrs Lafferty. Things were seriously not good before Mom righteously lost her temper but never her cool with Cantrip, on Dad’s and my account, and they could get that way again. Better to try to fix it, whatever the risks and even if you fail, than not try when you could. And I don’t think we’ll get another chance even half as good, so I’ll add two things. One is that it’s not coincidence I pushed Mercy as Andrea’s pulled you. There aren’t many people under 40 within the Beltway, but a _lot_ of young people will be voting with our feet on this one. The other you must know but I’ll say anyway. It’s true Mom is often left-field, and just as true she is consistently awesome. You’ve seen some of it. I’ve seen more. And there is no-one more worth helping, any which way you can.”

Despite embarrassment and mild exasperation — being coyote isn’t left-field to me — I knew Jesse was calling it as she saw it, and she’d nailed Rachel dead centre as a mother. I gestured to Darryl to flip Jesse a beer and gave her a thumbs-up as I rose and grabbed an apron. The vegetables were good for steaming as soon as earth fae arrived, and the meat was done to a turn, so I set about gravy, hoping it would be as symbolic as tasty.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

It didn’t take me long to realise the earth fae were being as political as I’d ever seen, reminding me of Pirandella’s remark about following _my_ politics. I hadn’t said anything much to her or Nuthatch lately, but ap Lugh or The Dagda might have — or Underhill — and they’d gleaned enough about Frank and Rachel from Andrea over the months that they were right on target.

I’d still been stirring gravy when they arrived, and Andrea had done introductions. Pixies and brownies can be seriously … cute would be wrong, but winsome, say, when they want, and they did, reporting in more detail than Adam but not a fascinated Rachel wanted about their garden plans, and the imminent arrivals of trees for us and the Freed, who’d also be getting some earth fae to tend them. That _was_ Adam’s business, but the discussion flagged fae help in protecting Freed from paparazzi with the gratitude felt towards them as helpful fellow prisoners in Cantrip’s hellhole, which nailed Frank as well as Rachel, again. There was also repeated praise of me as an Elf-friend, and when Rachel pushed some straight talk about what it meant to honour an outsider Underhill chose, as ancient law decreed, that continued as Adam carved and I dished vegetables. For a moment earth fae were in communion with steamed snowpeas, but with the edge taken off Pirandella got back on track.

“This is a living example of all I meant, Rachel Lafferty. Earth fae, wolves, avatar, and humans sit together, breaking bread. Simple, is it not?” She speared a snowpea, and if you think _crunch_ and _dainty_ are incompatible, watch a pixie eat. “After Mercedes Elf-friend rescued four of us from torment, with other fae and wolves, we sought balance, to return kindness for kindness as we must. So Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, far-sighted for us, spoke to her and Adam of how it had once been, when we were loved for our service, allowed to dwell by land humans tilled and welcomed to their greater feasts. So it had been since time out of mind, and in wilder places so it was into what you call the Middle Ages. Yet we here are the first of our kinds in this continent to find again our ancient way, and the first anywhere in almost a thousand years.”

She got back to eating, while Nuthatch took over.

“How it may seem to humans I cannot say, but to us there is a plain and potent link between this long-desired renewal and the effect Mercedes Elf-friend had on Underhill by daring to invoke her justice against Manannán mac Lír in his madness. In any new place ways must adapt yet remain true, and so it is here.” He shrugged delicately. “Earth fae have ever sought to dwell Overhill, for we must work and Underhill needs no tending. To find purpose and fulfilment again is a joy, and the greater as we extend the way we have found to others. Those who come will gladly dwell by the Freed and tend their garden, and that is only a start.”

I kept my voice offhand. “Wouldn’t do to make all the garden staff redundant on day one, but I’d have no problem with the Rose Garden getting some brownie and pixie love. Nor to the very positive publicity.”

Rachel gave me a look. “That’s just sneaky, Mercy.”

“Yup. Coyote-girl here, Rachel. I change the rules. There’s this, though. If you’d like earth fae to help with your garden, and you’ll swear to defend them, providing food and milk with occasional gifts of clothing, and to invite them to break bread with you on greater feasts, they’ll make you the offer whatever Frank decides. As a politician” — I shuddered — “which the President really has to be, I can’t not do sweeteners, but I do not blackmail friends. There are more ways than this both of you can contribute with full strength to the policy I’ve been arguing.”

I got a more measured look. “Sneaky, like I said.”

“Honourably sneaky. File under coyote chaos and wise insanity.”

There was a pause.

“Yes. Andrea’s been very clear you do your best for everyone, however eggs get broken, and though you’ve been quiet for a while you’ve been completely consistent in everything I’ve ever heard you say.” She sighed. “This is going to be a form of hell, isn’t it?”

“Probably, but it depends on your values of hell. The Beltway for four years fits mine, so if it happens I’ll be back here by cloak every day I can, and if you want to stay home in legal practice I don’t mind dropping Frank off. And God knows there’s plenty of truly serious legal work to be done.”

“Oh yeah.” She considered me. “And if I wanted an appointment?”

“Anything you’re qualified for is no problem for me. I don’t know what any laws say about Veep spouses. Your work’s civil, yes?”

“Un huh.”

“Then if we get there, talk to Kyle. He’s undecided whether going Fed for a while is better than pursuing his practice with more connections.”

Warren had a wry smile. “He’ll go Fed, Mercy, if you offer him anything serious. Especially if I become a state senator.” He looked at Frank and Rachel, and I held my breath, seeing Adam and Darryl freeze. “This is one of those wolf secrets, Mr and Mrs Lafferty, for a while yet, but I’m older than I look. Knee-high to a grasshopper next to earth fae, but still. And if I run, which is probably gonna happen, I have to come clean about that.” He looked down for a minute. “Old beings don’t like talking about it, because they’ve lost too much. I’ve outlived my parents and siblings by more than two centuries, and it still hurts. But Mercy’s teaching me how age can be a political strength, and I can see we’re gonna need it. So as Mercy will be endorsing me, as and when, you need to know I’m gay, Kyle’s partner, and I was born in 1776.” Warren flicked me a glance. “Mercy says my slogan should be _Born with this nation, and still fighting for it._ ”

“Or _Gay since 1776 and going strong._ ”

There was huffed laughter, and Warren grinned, if a little weakly.

“That one’ll be unofficial, Mercy. Kyle will slip it out somewhere.”

I was watching Frank, who’d laughed but was looking thoughtful.

“Amazing. None of that’s a problem, Mr Smith, but it’ll cause a stir alright. And your 250th should be something.” Frank looked at Adam. “You’re the same?”

“I’m only 68, Frank, and not one werewolf in fifty makes it into three figures. But those who do can keep right on going, as Warren has, and though this probably won’t come out we have a few in four figures. The same is true of avatars, and Mercy will not die unless killed, but they have to be born that way. From a wolf perspective, the biggest problem after this breaks will be discouraging wannabes who won’t survive the Change, and several strategies will kick in — one’s for later, but the big one for you is framing it all as historical witness rather than immortality knocks.”

“Un huh. Besides preternatural witness there is First People’s history to set straight. If we make it, that’ll be one symbol of a first Amerindian POTUS. The fae are way older, of course, but I’ve asked if those running will join history round tables and ap Lugh’s good with it.”

Frank shook his head. “And the mouthwatering inducements pile up.”

“As before, Frank, if you decide against, no door is closed. You’d be a good moderator for that sort of thing.”

“Gramps is in, Mr Lafferty. My not-exactly step-grandfather. He’s a good storyteller, too.”

“Of tall tales, Jesse. But yeah, he’ll be straight up about this.”

“OK.” Frank was enthused. “Are there any witnesses to major events?”

“We’re finding out. I’ve wanted to know for ages but getting the truly old to remember is not so easy, never mind agreeing to speak about it.”

We cleared and I served loganberry crumble, telling earth fae the unseasonal greenhouse bounty made me glad and being assured they were happy with the results. The speed with which portions disappeared and a young paean to stewed fruit puddings drew a question from Rachel that led to a really interesting account of what textures they did and didn’t like, and why overcooking soft fruit was OK but doing it to vegetables wasn’t. Andrea was mostly silent, her appreciation of fae tempered by careful observation of her parents, but talked to Warren about coming out and if there was anything she could do. Jenny, another observer, asked too, and I could hear Warren’s appreciation in his laconic answers.

Like Adam, Frank was a coffee man, even this late, while Rachel liked green tea, and Jenny and Andrea were coming round to my views on hot chocolate. We left the earth fae helping to stack the dishwasher, and went to Adam’s study. I felt as nervous as I had blowing the whistle to Leslie, but after formal warning that what I’d be saying was maximally classified for reasons of national security, lives on the line, and securing necessary oaths, Adam put the vampire briefing on screen, and after indrawn breaths there was silence for a while.

“So. There are vampires, and they are mostly bad news — bad enough that neither Fae nor wolves were willing to out them unilaterally, despite a high level of irritation and visceral dislike. Avatars fought them hard and took heavy casualties. If a vamp gets in someone’s face all react — I’ve dismissed four in self-defence, and wolf policing dismisses a score or so each year nationwide, mostly unsocialised newbies, and we can’t usually get to the older vamps who Turned them and are the real problem. Public outing, though, would incite a unified, very angry vampire attack, so despite the needless killing of humans used as foodstock, which really gets to me, preternaturals have kept shtum. I have exactly one vampire friend, and know one other I think halfway reasonable. But the Medicine Wolf Accords meant mutual alliance, inter-preternatural and human, which is a game-changer and leaves us feeling dishonest about not telling vampire all, while my real hurdle in deciding to seek to run was that I could not ask for human authority and remain silent. Questions?”

Frank shook his head. “Not yet, Mercy. What’s the other shoe?”

“The reason I had to do this tonight is that tomorrow night there will be a conference call between the Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, the Man, the directors of the FBI, CIA, ATF, Secret Service, and Farouts, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to agree an ultimatum that will be put to Iacopo Bonarata, self-styled Master of the Night. Vamps who come out and sign up to a Code of Conduct, which amounts to no feeding, mind games, or Turning without informed adult consent, will be good — a clean slate for the past, but no tolerance of infringement in future. Those who won’t sign up will face alliance strikes. Avatars can find vamps, wolves outmuscle them, Underhill has grown wooden bullets for Glocks, though we have no confirmation they’ll work, and Federal Government will provide Special Forces and SWAT, as well as handling international diplomacy.”

Frank’s face was still. “So I’d be signing up to this crusade.”

“Yes, but while there will probably be some deaths and many dismissals, the aim _is_ reform, not genocide or ethnic cleansing. I’ve made that stick with Gray Lords and Elder Spirits, and I will with humans, which is why I pulled in AED Westfield and insisted the operation be civilian-led, however military personnel are involved. And there’s a third shoe, though it’s no more than informed guesswork.”

It took a while to tell them about Wulfe, She of Livorno, and why ap Lugh and Nemane cared, but as I laid it all out I found myself coldly certain I was right about what Wulfe was up to, though there were layers of motive that were still opaque. I added Marsilia, Stefan, and Thomas Hao, with an outline of what I intended when I made those difficult calls, and — another deep breath — what Adam and I expected to happen, with the augmented defences already in place. All Lafferties were staring.

“You’re _deliberately_ using yourself as bait, Mercy?”

“I have no choice, Andrea, if I do this at all. Shooting — or biting — the messenger has worked for vamps for a long time, and no-one has forced Bonarata’s hand for centuries, so chances are high they’ll try it again. But if we can force him to use vamps who daywalk, _not_ a common ability, and take _them_ out when they try, Wulfe should be able to dragoon the rest.” I shrugged. “I do not like the … dismissal toll there will be, but it’s better than the present and future human death toll, and when all’s said and done all we want is a vamp version of the Medicine Wolf Accords.”

“I get that, and on this data it’s not a problem for me.” Andrea might be a little ditsy about the preternatural but knew it came in seriously bad as well as good flavours, and I saw her parents’ eyes narrow. “It’s you risking yourself that bothers me, Mercy, not just because I like you. If you were killed by vampires and that went public, there would be a lot of rage, enough to start a … pogrom, maybe. It’s a huge gamble.”

“Yeah, but it’s vamps who make it that way. Bran’s warned vamps repeatedly they need to come out, but Bonarata doesn’t seem to get it.”

“Bran?”

“The Marrok, Frank. It’s another secret for now, but his name is Bran Cornick, and he’s my adoptive father. I grew up with his sons, Samuel and Charles, and his pack.”

“Huh. Charles would be Charles Smith?”

“Yeah. Smith is just for humans. He’s another of our bicentenarians, but Samuel and Bran are way older. So are some vamps, and exposing their ages is another strategy for ameliorating reaction to wolf and avatar ages. We can talk to Bran in a bit, if you’d like.”

Andrea wasn’t distracted, nor Jenny.

“It’s still a fearsome risk, Mercy.”

“Tell me.”

“It keeps things legal, though.” Jenny wasn’t happy but was thinking hard. “God knows what the civil status of vampires is, but without proof of victimising people attacking them has to be dubious. If they do the attacking, though … well, I see what you mean about self-defence, Mercy.”

“Un huh. Their status, provisionally, is that if they were citizens when breathing, and have paid taxes properly, with some latitude for those like Stefan, who’s been in Spanish New World territories since the 1600s, they still are. Illegals who sign up can become naturalised, those who won’t get deported or restrained in very strong plastic coffins.”

There were more stares.

“Says who?”

“Says the Man, Jenny. We only did outlines, but did discuss it. And he’s also willing to take a call, Frank, if you want. He’ll be endorsing me if I run, and you.”

“He’s breaking party lines?”

“So he says, Rachel. Doesn’t think anyone who’s declared is up to it, and that the party system is unfit for purpose anyway.”

“He’s right about that, God knows. But if Andrea doesn’t like the risk to you, I really don’t like the risk to Frank.”

“No more you should, Rachel, and if that’s a deal-breaker I more than understand, but I _am_ doing all I can to mitigate it. My, or our, bodyguards would include Irpa, or other trolls, glamoured human and with troll clubs, and Jill Widepaw, an avatar of Bear who has a form, he tells me, that is much more grizzly than black. The slow time Underhill’s offering I can’t demonstrate, because it really is for emergency use only, but there is one more joker in the pack.”

I put on the cloak, and Skuffles materialised with a coyote grin, making everyone except Adam, Jesse, and me jump. They’d seen it on TV, of course, when we’d dealt with Heuter’s lawyers, but even Andrea hadn’t been around when it was out to play, and looked charmed. I’d never tried explaining Skuffles from scratch before, but Frank had a right to know, so after some mutual naming I ran through my need to deal with Adam’s and my rage about what we’d found in Wyoming, and slap down Leah Cornick, with the inspiration of Irpa’s tribute tattoo, and the extra magic all sorts of beings had contributed. When I added that even ap Lugh said there was no name for what I’d done with my amalgam of magics Skuffles gave another grin before padding over to sit in front of Frank and Rachel, tongue lolling. She looked nonplussed, but Frank looked happy.

“Ah, hello, Skuffles.”

_Hello, Frank Lafferty._

That made everyone jump, including me. Skuffles gave a coyote laugh.

_I have been looking forward to surprising you, Mercy. I know language because you do, and I am you, in a sideways fashion, but I lacked the magic to speak mind-to-mind, so I asked Coyote. He thought it was funny._

I bet he had, but despite surprise I found myself very happy, if confused about a not-exactly me. Adam looked more dubious, but that eased as Skuffles showed Frank and Rachel just how blindingly fast it was, and what kinds of dentition it packed.

_If you are under Mercy’s protection, you will also be under mine, Frank Lafferty. Vampires are fast, but I am faster, and if there is always risk, I look forward to surprising them also._

Despite everything that gave me warm feelings, and Adam. How reassured Rachel was I wasn’t sure, and I knew I had a talk with Jenny in store about legal headaches Skuffles might occasion, but something about my surprise had flicked Frank into teacherly mode. I answered a series of sharp questions about the magics I’d always had and acquired from Guayota and Manannán, speaking as plainly as I could, then more that turned on my ethics of violence and predation. Those were complicated, and I was open about lives I’d taken in self-defence. Tim the rapist was my only straight human kill, but I’d racked up a wolf or three as well as four vamps, one Faerie Queen, the River Devil, and Manannán mac Lír — not one of them any kind of weight on my conscience, however I had nightmares sometimes. Adam, ever conscientious, added his own tally of wolves, with brief explanations, vamps and humans of the Cantrip variety, with longer ones, as well as alluding to Vietnam with a shrug.

“Mercy and I are predators. Blood in itself does not bother us or we would starve. But I was human once, and my human is in charge, so I have ethics as well as imperatives. The bottom line is that, like full-out combat, preternatural opponents usually mean kill or be killed. I do not kill without compelling reason but with it I do not hesitate.”

Jenny sighed. “Most of this is new to me, Frank, Rachel, because these two have had the sense to keep it quiet. But the Bennet business was signed off on by a senior Cantrip guy, and on what I know there’s nothing I couldn’t defend in court with all sincerity.”

Rachel had questions, but seemed more outraged at what Cantrip had done than at anything done to them, and Frank just waved a hand.

“Maybe I should be bothered, and Rachel and I will need to sleep on this and have a long talk, but I can’t say I am. Anyone starting violence is fair game, and most people feel the same. But I’m struck by how often you’ve had to deal with attacks, Mercy, Adam, and risks accumulate. Then again, you both seem good at surviving. And while I’m still trying to get my head around vampires, what’s striking me is your ethics of silence before and action now. Integrity about that counts for a lot.”

“I need to like what I see in the mirror, Frank. And though my coyote doesn’t give me the problems with rage wolves have, before we were all out there wasn’t any alternative to looking out for myself as lethally as necessary. Now there is, so I’m taking it.” I checked my watch. “If you want to talk to the Man I need to place that call. Bran’s on Mountain time.”

Frank blinked. “You just call the President when you want?”

“When I need. I have his private number. Doing things his party really won’t like through the switchboard is not such a good idea.”

“Figures.” He gave a crooked smile. “I have a nasty suspicion this will make it all seem real instead of an amazing dream, but I won’t turn down a conversation with the President if he’s offering.”

I made the call, told the Man of ap Lugh’s and The Dagda’s approval, and introduced Frank, Rachel, Jenny, and Skuffles, who got a long look. The humans were all standing, and the Man waved a hand.

“Mr and Mrs Lafferty, Ms Lafferty, Ms Trevellyan, do sit, please.” He was alone, and had a glass of something amber, but went into brisk mode. “Mr Lafferty, Mercy only gave me your name today, and you don’t seem to have anything much on file beyond IRS data, travel records, and property ownership, but Google tells me you’re a superior teacher and debate coach and a longstanding supporter of gun control. Is there anything not on file or Google I should know?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. I’ve done my share of marching, but I have no criminal record, and no vices I’d need to be publicly ashamed of.”

The Man waved a hand again. “OK. Now, if anyone else with that low a profile was proposing to run for any federal office I’d tell them to forget it, but for Mercy’s running mate you seem perfect. Since I’ve known she was thinking seriously about it I’ve been wondering whom she’d ask, and discounting every name that crossed my mind. I’m endorsing her because we need someone fresh who will strictly uphold the Medicine Wolf Accords, and she has the best shot for an independent I’ve ever seen. I thought so before this whole vampire thing came up, and it has only cemented my conviction.” He shrugged. “Even if she doesn’t win, simply thinking about running has made her cook up another workable if weird plan for dealing with a serious problem we only suspected, so the nation comes out ahead already. And if it breaks during the campaign in the way we’re expecting, and we get it right, I’m going to enjoy watching her wipe the floor with all the business-as-usual candidates.”

Frank, if bemused and on edge, was good with that, but he and Rachel had straight questions about how vamps were going to be dealt with that got straight answers. Westfield had been promoted to Acting Executive Director (Preternatural), and though secrecy limited what could be done in advance an executive order and legislation had been drafted, about status as citizens and dismissal as murder,. The military were freaked but intrigued by wooden slugs, which also grabbed the Secret Service, while someone was seeing to plastic coffins and injectable foam. Nothing diplomatic had happened, but pumps had been primed. What I’d said to Leslie about sheep had gone straight to the top, and budget had been earmarked for medical care. All in all, the Feds were accepting my ethics with my plan, and the Man made it clear other advice had been rejected.

There wasn’t much more save an earnest request that despite the dangers and hassle Frank seriously consider accepting, for the national good if not his own, and a brief discussion about events tomorrow. Then I called Bran, so both parties could put a face to a name, but I surprised him by telling him Coyote had taught Skuffles to mindspeak, though it didn’t yet have Medicine Wolf’s way with technology so he had to take my word for it, and threw in the Fountain of Uphill Justice, receiving one of his looks promising a longer conversation later. Frank became more serious to ask about separate but equal justice, and Bran shrugged.

“My overriding concern is wolf safety, Mr Lafferty, and old habits die hard, but I am clear that everything that can be dealt with openly should be. I cannot promise we will never sort something out among ourselves, especially leadership challenges and the like, but where there are human victims the Accords require federal notification, and I will no more be forsworn than Gwyn ap Lugh.” Bran’s gaze switched. “Adam, brief on wolf business at your discretion. Andrea has been very helpful and unfailingly kept confidence.” And switched back. “You will know from Travers that a senile wolf is a very real and present danger. Had I known, I would have had him killed, for there is no other way. But for such as Paul Harris a silver-barred cell is well enough, however he had earned death.”

Paul had won his case against Sarah Clements, collecting considerable damages while splattering her, her father, and the JLS with a great deal of toxic mud, but was going to have to wait eighty-something moons before spending them. Frank’s brow creased.

“Because he betrayed Adam?”

“That is Adam’s business. He made a leadership challenge on national TV, Mr Lafferty, endangering all wolves. Only Mercy’s unexpected possession of Carnwennan avoided disaster, I am not swift to forgive idiocy, and as I once told the Man, I have not ruled North American werewolves since 1800, keeping them in check, by being nice.”

And that was that. Once we’d rung off there were questions Adam and I answered, confirming Bran’s unknown but considerable age, and giving background on Paul. Saying Bran was probably the source of the Grendel story didn’t seem necessary, though I did tell them he was the present holder of Excalibur. I also offered to take Andrea back to Philly with them, and collect her in the morning, but given the time zones she decided against, though she would again accompany me both ways.

“When do you need a definite answer, Mercy?”

“Naming the ticket when I give the first interview next week would be good, but assuming a positive response formal announcement the week after would do. If you’re going to decline, though ...”

He thought, looking at his wife and daughter while I crossed fingers. “OK. I need to sleep on it, do some listening, and square up to myself, but I can let you know by Sunday, one way or the other.”

I couldn’t ask more, and with a delay while we found Nuthatch and Pirandella in the garden to make farewells, I took them home, Skuffles coming _for the fun of it_. On the way to Philly the Garden of Manannán’s Death was deserted, the only sound the murmur of water, but on the way back Brent, Andrea, Skuffles, and I found Irpa contemplating it. After greeting Skuffles and raising eyebrows at being spoken to, she had questions about filing a federal candidacy Andrea could answer, and a couple for me on ap Lugh’s behalf about tomorrow. I relayed what the Man had said, and when we were home Andrea gave me a long look, eyes bright.

“Do you ever weird yourself out, Mercy?”

“Often, Andrea, but what’s a coyote girl to do?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

I spent Thursday morning making sure I was clear on what I’d need to say that evening, and confirming arrival times with ap Lugh, Bran, Coyote, who’d pass word, and Leslie. I’d agreed on 5 p.m. Pacific, meaning 8 p.m. in DC, and as no-one knew when we’d finish I’d have food available from 3.30. I sorted a venison stew with celery root and mushrooms I’d found on a hunters’ website and could slow cook. I’d hoped to get some shopping in, but a call from Jenny made for a dryly legal half-hour about my probable liability for anything Skuffles did, and any notion of down time vanished with a call from Ramona telling me Medicine Wolf was inspecting their garden and wanted to know where the new earth fae would wish to dwell.

The old ones weren’t usually around much during daylight, but when Brent and I trotted down to their grove, oaks rustling welcome, it was only a moment before Pirandella and Nuthatch appeared with enquiring looks. I explained, and though neither was keen on cars they agreed heading to Richland was sensible, so we piled into the Cherokee, which had acceptable leather seats. I used Columbia Drive to get onto 240, and as we hit The Delta, crossing the Yakima, Nuthatch asked me to slow, he and Pirandella peering out of the window, though at what I wasn’t sure. Then it was I182 until I could work round to Duportail.

There were always paparazzi hanging about, flashes popped as I pulled up, and the usual inane questions were shouted, sharpening as Pirandella and Nuthatch slipped onto the sidewalk. Brent was scanning for any worse threat and I shielded the earth fae as we crossed the yard, glad their glamour defeated photography, and Hec, guarding the door on two legs with Carla on four, let us in with warm greetings.

“Go on out back. Everyone else is there.”

None of the alphabet houses had much in the way of back yards, but the combined L- and two-dwelling T-unit meant the Freed had three run together, which gave width if not depth. Medicine Wolf took up a chunk, lying with Ramona and the Freed sitting in semi-circles around its head. It looked around as we came out and they stood.

_Greetings, Mercy, Brent, Nuthatch, and Pirandella._

We caught up with general news before Medicine Wolf settled to talk with the earth fae. Despite the discrepancy in size its help in reshaping the land and welcoming oaks had left them completely at ease, and I listened as placement of trees was canvassed, allowing room they’d need while providing the desired magical coverage — which meant no shooting from outside, not affecting Penny’s camera filming _Living Free and Moonbound_ inside. Irrigation came up, but Medicine Wolf could simply pull in water from the Yakima, a quarter-mile south. Where the new earth fae would want their dwelling was trickier, for happy as they would be to tend the garden, Nuthatch and Pirandella were clear that some distance from as well as proximity to favoured humans mattered, while being by water was always desirable ; but they had an idea.

What they’d been peering at as we crossed the Yakima turned out to be a small and so far as I knew nameless island, that I thought was technically part of the Riverview Natural Preserve, and certainly part of the Yakima Delta Wildlife Management Unit. It was a good two miles away, but Nuthatch and Pirandella hoped Medicine Wolf might provide an access tunnel, saying the distance back and forth was unimportant compared to the safety and attraction of an island. Ramona’s jaw dropped a little.

“Getting permission would be impossible, Nuthatch. A tunnel that long under Richland would freak every state official sideways. And no-one can camp in the Delta.”

My mind was spinning hard. “You’re not wrong, Ramona, but the rules ban human camping, not fae dwelling, and who says Medicine Wolf needs permission to reconfigure itself?” She blinked, and other Freed laughed. “It’s true a tunnel would need to go deep, well clear of pipes, cables, and foundations, and with getting under the Yakima that might mean vertical shafts and ladders. Would that be a problem?”

Nuthatch and Pirandella assured me it wouldn’t, if ladders were wooden, but Medicine Wolf said it could do a slope from the island without difficulty, and at this end a spiral.

_Human systems are only just underground, Mercy. I go down much further, and there is plenty of room beneath this spot._

“OK.” I did some googling, confirming a half-memory and blessing Wikipedia. “The Yakima Delta Wildlife Management Unit belongs to the Army Corps of Engineers. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, or I could ask their C-in-C direct.” There was more laughter. “But I’m not sure asking sets a good precedent.”

“And if it came out during the campaign, Mercy?” Ramona looked dubious. “Wouldn’t busting all the planning rules and regs be a liability?”

I shrugged. “Maybe, and Jenny would agree, but I don’t think so, and what Medicine Wolf and earth fae do is their business, not any official’s. There’s no danger to any human, Medicine Wolf doesn’t need anyone’s let, and though canoeists probably land on that island sometimes, there are no residents to worry about. I don’t want to bother the Man with … anything extraneous just now, and if I make it I could formalise permission retrospectively. It’s a prime example of the interspecies co-operation we want to push, even if humans aren’t involved, and it’s helping you and the Freed, which is good. Besides, that land _ought_ to belong to the Yakama Nation, who fished there for centuries before Anglos came, and still would if the government hadn’t forced the purchase. And the Yakama would be more than willing. All that should offer enough cover, though I’ll make sure Jim Alvin knows.” I looked at Medicine Wolf. “Just keep it earth-fae-sized, and _don’t_ undermine any foundations. Having the 240 interchange subside into a magical tunnel would _not_ be good.”

It let a large tongue loll, eyes glinting. _I will be careful, Mercy. Once the tunnel is made, I can render its walls harder than rock. This seems a good solution, as the little ones do not mind distance, for many new trees here, with deep roots and irrigation, would make a dwelling here awkward._

Nuthatch and Pirandella were pleased, and if Ramona was still doing some Alpha fretting other Freed were amused and intrigued. There would be a fine line to tread in telling Penny about trees, anti-media protection, and earth fae serving them, which I wanted out there, without mentioning long tunnels under metro areas, and we canvassed that, but she didn’t pry needlessly and knew some things had to be private. What if any camera-time the earth fae would be willing to offer was moot, but Nuthatch and Pirandella would speak to them, and I hoped they’d be willing.

Ramona was being privately briefed on the vamp situation by Bran, as all Alphas were, but that wasn’t for wider discussion yet. I did take the chance to update everyone on campaign plans, including Irpa’s candidacy with others I hoped would soon be confirmed, and amused them all — even Medicine Wolf — with Underhill’s Fountain of Uphill Justice. But time was beginning to press, so after I’d managed a private word with Medicine Wolf and called a surprised Jim about imminent fae residence in the Delta, which pleased him far more than it didn’t, we ran the gauntlet of paparazzi again, thickened by news of my presence. Along the way I asked the earth fae how they’d known about the island, and was disconcerted to discover that Jesse, sitting outside one evening doing schoolwork on her laptop, had introduced them to Googlemaps, with the fun of switching map and satellite views in 2- or 3-D. Pirandella also had a taste for podcasts, and surprised me again by saying ap Lugh had given them a laptop they charged in the greenhouse. Who knew pixies surfed?

When we were back the earth fae said they should talk to Underhill, and vanished through the garden, while I checked on food and caught up with Mary. Caroline and Penny had confirmed next Wednesday, telling her worldwide syndication was sorted, and we tallied my diary, including Friday’s mix of paperwork, exercise, the call to Stefan I was dreading, the weekend slot in Denver — not for the first time I was very grateful for travel by cloak — and talking to state legislatures on Tuesday, also broadcast. Ben had websites ready to go, and they looked good as well as being crystal clear. I sent him a grateful e, and his immediate reply said, amid expletives, that it had been interesting to do and any number of morons would still get it wrong. I filled Mary in on Earth Fae Island and tunnels under Richland, raising eyebrows but leaving her half-persuaded by my reasoning, and told her Skuffles had learned to mindspeak, adding it was a sideways version of me.

“That’s …”

“Useful? Jenny’s lectured me about liability, but there are no precedents, meaning plenty of wiggle-room, so I’m just filing under maxi-me. And it — or she — should liven up a press conference sometime.”

I got a weak grin. “Maxi-me is a good one, Mercy, but the Skuffles Appreciation Society has faded because she hasn’t been seen and the Mercy’s Law debates have been getting down to brass tacks about restricting cross-examinations.”

“I know, but Skuffles’s low profile is deliberate. She’s a secret weapon in reserve, if you like. It’ll only work once, but could easily be critical.”

That made sense to her, though she wanted to talk it through, so we did while I whipped up another crumble. We also got into what her kids might do with Jesse in helping mobilise pressure on parents to take my candidacy seriously, and how they were doing anyway — well, pretty much, though Josh was hitting puberty and becoming as confused as all teenagers. By then it had gone three, and I’d just come down from a swift change into a power blouse-and-skirt combo when ap Lugh rang to say he, Nemane, and Baba Yaga would be coming through to the hall with Bran and Charles, so I called Adam and we switched to laying the table for 14.

Coyote beat them to it, strolling in through the back door with Gordon, Wolf, Bear, and Raven. Despite having seen them at the weekend things were moving so fast there was plenty to talk about, including how things had gone with Frank and what exactly governors had said. Gordon had sat in on a conversation between Medicine Wolf and Underhill — I didn’t ask how, which took some tongue-biting — and was very happy to know a young forest would be in place before the Falls re-emerged. I relayed Andrea’s acceptance of Antigonus sandwiches, amused they seemed to know their Shakespeare, and the more serious question of stray children with what would and would not be helpful examples.

“My children recognise human children.” Wolf grinned, teeth white above his gorgeous charcoal three-piece suit. “There are stories enough. Maybe we should Romulus and Remus them, though. Any parents who let younglings stray where they know there is danger need a lesson.”

“You could wind up with a new Rome. Mowgli-ing might be better.”

They knew their Kipling too, or more likely Walt Disney, and I shifted conversation by asking Bear about Jill Widepaw, who would find me soon, and told him about the trolls who’d be on security. I also offered my suspiciously well-behaved father wry thanks for Skuffles’s new volubility, wondering how a speechless coyote sending had let him know what it wanted, but we hadn’t got far before Adam arrived with Darryl, having for once left work early, closely followed by a wary but bright-eyed Leslie. She’d met Coyote several times but only seen the others, so I did introductions and listened to cautious mutual q.-and-a. while I added an apron, and measured rice to go with the venison stew, smelling good.

Even though I didn’t have the cloak on I became aware of an impending arch at the same time as Elder Spirits, and Adam and I went out to the hall. Bran, Charles, and ap Lugh were in serious suits, but it was Nemane and Baba Yaga who caught the eye, in what I thought had to be a crow-feather cloak and what looked like a very old-style folk dress, though whether Russian, Finnish, or Sami I hadn’t a clue. I did formal greetings, to the same ironic approval as before, and exchanged hugs with Charles, before we adjourned to the kitchen and I excused myself to cook.

A small part of my brain wanted to gibber at the sheer power that was assembled, but a larger part was amused and interested by conversations that developed. Nemane and Raven were talking feathers, Bran was asking Wolf whether it would be loners or a pack at Celilo Falls, ap Lugh and Gordon were into huorns, and Baba Yaga and Charles had stuff on vamp banking habits that had drawn in Adam and Darryl. A deadpan Bear was telling Leslie a wickedly funny story about an Anglo arrested in Idaho for trying to steal someone’s wig while they were wearing it. Good cheer deepened as I dished stew, activating the hospitality spell and drawing compliments as well as questions about the recipe.

I’d put myself and Anna next to Leslie, by way of insulation and to ask about the new meaning of AED, but we attracted everyone’s attention. The ‘Acting’ was simply because there wasn’t going to be a permanent ED (Preternatural), but the promotion was real, and Westfield would replace his present boss when she retired, which was imminent. Leslie had careful but revealing things to say about more hawkish advice the Man rejected, which explained why Homeland Security were distinctly _not_ involved, despite their director’s protests, and sketched the ad hoc command structure Westfield had established to make sure lines were toed.

“I’d thought the CIA might squawk but the AED says they’re very taken with international angles, and the chance to offer Europeans some officious help that’ll actually be wanted.” There were grins that faded as Leslie went on. “Homeland, though, really do not seem to have learned the Cantrip Lesson, and I think their director has got himself into much hotter water than he realises. The AED wasn’t saying, but some DC contacts think an audit will be imposed.”

“Not before time.” Bran had some growl in his voice. “They’re grossly overstaffed, uncoordinated, and wasteful. How are the Secret Service on board if Homeland isn’t?”

“Presidential fiat, I think.” Leslie shrugged. “Homeland umbrella or no, they’ve always remained closer to the White House than anyone else.”

Raven cocked his head. “Their director bears my children no grudge?”

There were more grins, even from Leslie. The persecution by guano had only lasted for about six months, but had been memorable.

“I don’t think so, Raven. Word is he was pretty shaken by the uniform contempt for what he did, and went in for some genuine soul searching.”

“Well enough.”

And it was. I served crumble, crediting earth fae for unseasonal bounty and telling ap Lugh of uses to which they’d been putting their laptop as well as the morning’s outcome. That was new to everyone, and detained us a while, Leslie shaking her head while agreeing Medicine Wolf did as it wanted, but with plates again cleared rehearsal of what we’d be saying, to whom, took over. There wasn’t anything new, but I was happy to make sure everyone was on the same page. Fighting vamps together might be new, but only the together bit, the roles each kind had to play long familiar to everyone except Leslie, absorbing with fierce concentration. Then it was time to head for Adam’s study, a flutter starting in my belly that I ignored but Adam didn’t, sending me a pulse of reassurance.

He had his desk moved back and chairs arrayed so a wide-angle camera covered everyone. Elder Spirits, wolves, and Fae each stayed grouped together, for clarity, while our array declared unity, in this at least. Despite my butterflies I realised with some resignation it didn’t seem wrong to be central, square on to the screen, and at 5 exactly the phone rang, and Adam’s system put up a wide-angle shot of a crowded Oval Office. The Man was behind his desk, AED on his right, and from the clothing agency directors beyond him while Joint Chiefs were to the left in an impressive array of uniforms. After a swift glance around the Man carefully said how glad he was everyone was able to attend, and asked principals at his end to name themselves, which they did. There were no surprises, and my butterflies faded as interest kicked in — the AED and Director of the FBI looked calmest, the Director of the Secret Service wariest, glancing often at Raven, others a mix of uncertainty and curiosity, the Joint Chiefs adding some starch. August Wiseman, founding Director of the Farouts, was interesting, a mixed-race three-term congressman from Baltimore who seemed equally apprehensive and resigned, and I made a note to seek a clarifying conversation. Then I was on, asking everyone at our end to name themselves, however redundantly, and at the Man’s nod started the ball rolling.

At first a lot of what needed saying was formal rehash, but to no-one’s surprise there were questions, particularly from the Joint Chiefs as they tried to get a fuller measure of what they were going up against. We’d given as accurate a tally of seethes and loners as we could manage, and Bran had some acerbic commentary on policing wolves had undertaken since the first vamp had shown up in Montana in 1817, Gordon and Coyote adding avatars’ revulsion at undeath. Raven had a pure dislike of anything that didn’t become carrion when it should, Nemane vigorously agreeing, and we were diverted for a while into how old a vamp had to be before dismissal meant dust, which was about as long as a corpse would last in earth. Going the other way, the AED had fragmentary data on the Bennet case the Feebs had found in encrypted Cantrip files, which interested Adam and Bran, as well as Darryl and me, and his Director a report on vamp finances they’d been able to trace, already involving several hundred million bucks in a complex web of accounts both legal and distinctly not, which he promised with an unreadable expression to send to Charles and Baba Yaga. Then the Chair of the Joint Chiefs asked if any of us knew where vamps came from, and I looked at the Gray Lords.

“Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, you are the eldest of the Old World here.”

He shrugged. “The Undead came to Britain with the Romans, so though Bonarata was born in the fourteenth century it is not chance he too is Roman. Baba Yaga knew of them earlier.”

“True.” She didn’t look happy about it. “I encountered the Undead near what you now call St Petersburg a score of centuries before your Christ was born. They came from the south and east, and smelt as they do now, of black witchcraft and stagnant blood. I do not know their true origin, but guess it lies in the sacrificial practices of early farming cultures, and we drove them south again, as we could.”

Nemane nodded. “I concur. We of the Tuatha dé Danaan likewise kept them from Ireland as we could, as abomination, but to have found a way of unliving darkness after physical death bespeaks sacrifice at dusk.” She paused, glancing at ap Lugh, but went on. “There are near limits to what I will say of this, but we of the fae are born of natural life, even that which feeds on death, but the Undead are an inversion of life and death, and to achieve that would take significant power and immense desire.” She shrugged. “If you want a guess, someone tried to sacrifice a strong black witch or wizard with extended torture, and power in extremity opened a means of survival and revenge.”

“Look to the means of dismissal.” Ap Lugh raised fingers. “Exposure to sunlight, staking with wood, decapitation, fire — the source of all life, a grown stake through a still heart, division of will from heart, reduction to the ash all such should be. But their origins profit us nothing.”

However interesting, that was true, and we went back to practical issues, meaning the ultimatum with its exact wording — I was taking careful notes, though I had my own ideas — and means of delivery. Then I was on again to lay out the odd triangle of Marsilia, Wulfe, and Bonarata, explaining why going through her was necessary strategy.

“There are several angles. One is that as she is his reluctantly banished child and mistress, Bonarata will not refuse Marsilia’s call. Another is that if I’m right about Wulfe, he’ll be in the loop, and if I’m not, in the frame. I hope to have an answer to that soon, but either way a violent vamp response will almost certainly come at me, here, and we have magical plans for dealing with it. Assuming they work, pressure on Bonarata will rise sharply _and_ a majority of vamps will become seriously unwilling to try for me a second time, meaning he’ll need to send his own hatchet vamps, or Lenka Yakovlevna, his pet wolf — and if we can take them out too he’ll be running out of options fast.”

I took a deep breath, noticing Westfield’s concerned expression.

“This is a preternatural problem so we accept we should take point. What we need from humans is clear evidence of commitment, meaning, Mr President, you and the Chair of the Joint Chiefs at least should be present for the ultimatum, as well as Gwyn ap Lugh, the Marrok, and Coyote ; plus maximal financial and, in so far as it’s possible, diplomatic pressure. Overseas diplomacy is beyond us, but we can do something about land borders. Gordon?”

“Avatars have a history with vamps, and First People straddle both Canadian and Mexican borders. She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars has asked us to help make those easy refuges unavailable, and though we cannot seal them we will watch closely, with the Marrok’s support.”

Bran leaned forward. “Canadian and Mexican wolfpacks heed my command and will support avatars. Vampires who can translocate can avoid all, but they are few, and most will find any attempt to flee only a road to dusty death.” Bran knew Shakespeare too. “Coffined vamps transported by day might get through, but those travelling by night will need to be a great deal cleverer than most to do so. Mercy is correct about the need for severe financial pressure, and Charles has ideas about that.”

Human eyes had widened, and Charles didn’t narrow them.

“Hacking accounts is of course illegal unless sanctioned, but with the aid of Baba Yaga and others we have found some deeply buried Italian and offshore accounts that by size alone must matter a great deal to Bonarata. More may be found if Mercy proves right about Wulfe’s intentions, which I strongly believe she is. Hitting all simultaneously with the ultimatum would greatly impede and enrage Bonarata, clouding ability and judgement, but many hands would be needed to siphon them clean. We wonder, therefore, if Baba Yaga and I might liaise with the best hackers each agency and the Pentagon has, and the Fed.”

Despite the illegality everyone seemed taken with that idea, and the Man gave crisp orders about a hacking sub-committee, giving Westfield oversight. He nodded, looking at me with a frown.

“Ms Hauptman, this is all better than I’d expected, but I am deeply concerned about the risks you and Mr and Miss Hauptman are running. I recognise you have great resources of your own, but if you want more …”

I gave him a smile I meant. “Thanks, AED, it’s appreciated, but I wouldn’t care to put your people or a Secret Service detail in the line just yet, and their only weapon would be Underhill’s wooden slugs, which I’d like to keep in reserve as long as possible. They will _not_ be mentioned in the ultimatum, because we have to play on Bonarata’s arrogance, and letting him know any human with a Glock could dismiss him is not the way.”

“Alright, but the offer stands, Ms Hauptman.”

Then we got down to timing, which meant laying out my schedule, with how soon hackers could assemble and the training schedule for strike teams, the net result being that I would talk to Bonarata Friday evening next week, unless anyone hit a real snag. 6 p.m. Pacific would be 3 a.m. in Italy, OK for a vamp. The military had concerns about speed, but straight talking from Adam, in vet mode, and an offer from Bran to provide wolf vets and serving personnel with vamp experience if they could be seconded, eased things along, with one complication.

“On this timetable, the ultimatum expires on 6th June, and in the six weeks to then there are two full moons, 5th May and 3rd June, a Monday and a a Tuesday. Wolves will have to change, and vampires know that. Those on secondment can remain on duty — the change is necessary, not to hunt — but they will be less able to communicate.” Bran held up a hand. “By the later date matters may be resolved, but with the threat known to vamps from 25th April the earlier will see activity, I would think. Gwyn ap Lugh?”

“Fae and stronger half-fae will assist humans on those dates to guard known seethes, that the Undead cannot scatter, but we cannot guard the borders as wolves can. Maximal human alert would be sensible.”

That was accepted, and to my surprise ap Lugh offered to assist the hackers with time-dilation, if needed — an offer producing more croggled human looks — and after final checks that everyone was clear on what they had to do we were done. Elder Spirits were becoming antsy at being in a closed room, and it was close to midnight in DC, so with farewells all round Adam cut the connection, and sat back with a sigh.

“Well, that went better than not. The Man must have done some _very_ executive briefing.”

“Indeed so, Adam Hauptman, and I heard no untruth or insincerity in his voice, nor those of other humans, however bemused.” Ap Lugh offered a smile. “And whatever comes of this, we are all now free of the liability of concealing the Undead from those with whom we have sworn to keep peace. It is a relief that makes us glad, Mercedes Elf-friend.”

“Yes.” Bran’s expression was unreadable. “Honesty proves the best policy, something of a novelty with humans.”

Coyote grinned. “It surprised them too, which is always good. And however we are deferring to your delicacies, ever-so daughter, sticking it to the bloodsuckers big-time with Anglo help is cause for celebration. Right now, though, I want a beer and a run.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

I stuck to my self-imposed Friday regime like glue, despatching paperwork with a thoroughness that had Mary eyeing me with concern, and working out hard enough I almost got a tennis-ball past Skuffles. I finished up PowerPoint stuff for Denver, feeling my stomach knotting tighter and tighter, and the little lunch I managed was a lead weight. I hadn’t seen Stefan for two months, though we’d exchanged texts, and however clear I was that I didn’t have much choice and what almost all vamps did was plain wrong, what I was about to do still felt like a betrayal, because it was. My words to Rachel Lafferty about never blackmailing friends seemed hollow, though I could tell myself it wasn’t really blackmail, just fair warning, and did, repeatedly.

The need to clear decks for a weekend away and very crowded week to follow meant Adam was working late, so Darryl, Auriele, and Joel were riding herd with Brent, lapel-cams running. By the time they showed up, with the sun westering, I’d forced myself to send an e asking Stefan to translocate with maximal discretion to the garden at 7. Needing to put the Code of Conduct on a flash drive, with a bulleted summary of what the Man was prepared to offer those signing up, and print copies of both, occupied a few minutes, but I was very happy when Jesse got home, wanting a detailed account of last evening. As Darryl hadn’t said much to Auriele, she and Joel were up for that too, and in an odd way tallying it helped ; I might be pushing the world again, but not alone, and if concerned about Stefan as well as the risks they were bone certain vamps had painted themselves into a corner and must abide the consequences. With that done the clock was still only inching along, and as my nerves were firing every which way I put on the cloak, took everyone outside, summoned Skuffles, and started a game of Frisbee.

It took Skuffles a few tries to learn how to flick her head to produce a good throw, amid much skull-ruff rattling, but she proved as mean a player as of coyote-in-the-middle, and ran the rest of us ragged. Jesse had a good line about being defeated by my own maxi-me, a joke she had to explain to Skuffles, promising to dig out the Austen Powers DVDs ; and watching Joel and Auriele get their heads around a talking Skuffles was welcome distraction. As twilight deepened I distracted myself some more lighting a fire, as much for comfort as warmth, and Darryl brought chairs. Skuffles knew I was fretting, and sat beside me, letting me rest a hand in her fur, wondering at the pure efficacy of glamour, before she vanished. Despite protest and mulish looks I also sent Jesse inside.

“I doubt Stefan will flip, ex-kiddo, but trouble is not impossible. Adam reinforced Brent for good reasons, and one target to guard is enough.”

Then it was back to waiting, but Stefan was prompt, drifting out of the darkness with a quizzical look at 7. Despite the dropping temperature he wore only slacks and his worn Scooby-Doo tee, and my heart ached.

“Hey, Mercy. Why all the secrecy?”

“Stefan.” My voice sounded weak. “You’re well?”

“I am.” His look was guarded. “And you?”

“More or less. But we need to talk about the less, I’m afraid. Things are happening.”

Stefan dropped into the remaining chair, but didn’t relax, and Auriele, Darryl, Brent, and Joel were poised to move at need.

“Are they? What sort of things?”

“All sorts. But I’m hoping there might be a short cut. Tell me, if you will, do you know what Wulfe said to me that night in Wyoming, after you and Marsilia left?”

Vampires are often still, but Stefan became stiller.

“After? He told us he acknowledged your aid, granting his protection against our kind. Many did not like it, but saw the logic.” Stefan shrugged. “Wulfe has the right and power. Was there more?”

“He called himself the oldest living vampire wizard, in the hearing of Gwyn ap Lugh and Nemane.”

The stillness became intense, and I could see him working it through.

“Ah. That is … interesting. What do you deduce from it?”

I took a deep breath. “Too much, maybe, but it has had strong effects, not least on Bran and the Gray Lords, who were not certain She of Livorno had been dismissed, but now are. And as you may know, and Wulfe surely does, Fae and Wolves are under considerable human pressure in the wake of the Medicine Wolf Accords about certain silences we have been carefully keeping. So it is my belief, and others’, that Wulfe accepts the _status quo_ is not sustainable, and has hopes we might be willing to help with some … necessary housekeeping.”

There was a long silence, Stefan’s expression closed, and I sighed.

“Stefan, we’ve been friends a long time by my standards, and I owe you, so if you want I can give you some documents to read, and keep this short by advising you to get yourself and your household out of town and deep under cover until you can decide what you want to do.”

“And why should I wish or need to hide, Mercy?”

I passed him printed copies and flash drive. “Because a week today I am going to make a call, via Marsilia, to tell Bonarata secrecy is no longer viable.” He looked startled and I held up a hand. “I will be speaking for the Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, and the Man.”

“You’re _outing_ us?”

“We have to, Stefan. I’m declaring my candidacy to succeed the Man, and I cannot do so and keep shtum about how every vamp except you and Thomas Hao treats their sheep. And, you told me, however belatedly, Wulfe. I _have_ done the best I can by vamps, for your sake and Hao’s, and we seek reform, no more, which has taken some doing, but _everyone_ preternatural has had it with Bonarata’s … indifference to reality, and with the Accords our honours are engaged in a way saying nothing brings into question. I’m just taking point.” I was pinning my hopes on the fact Stefan understood honour in his bones. “So it’s signing up to that Code of Conduct, which _you_ already follow, with the civil deal detailed in those papers, or facing an alliance of Gray Lords, Wolves, Elder Spirits and avatars, here in the basin Medicine Wolf, and humans, meaning military Special Forces, SWAT, and more. It _is_ forcible outing, Stefan, and I really don’t like the taste, but my honour is engaged too.”

Stefan was expressionless, but sat back, crossing his legs as he carefully read both documents. When he looked at me again his look had become very complicated, and he sounded sad.

“If you make this ultimatum to the Master of the Night, Mercy, he will kill you. Wulfe cannot protect you against him, nor can any other.”

“Any other what, Stefan? Bonarata will try to kill me, I agree, but he’ll find it harder than he thinks.” This was trickier, but I pushed on. “And I’m willing to bet Wulfe knows that, and for many reasons is quite content his former child should … underestimate the magical threat environment. I have no loyalty to Wulfe, nor Marsilia, but have no objection if you want to warn them, quietly, to make very sure _they_ are not in the forefront of any assault on this house Bonarata demands of her seethe.”

He looked at me for a moment. “I cannot fight the Master, Mercy.”

“Who’s asking you to? But if Wulfe wants what I think, you can tell him the price is as much financial data on Bonarata and his seethe as he has, especially older and undigitised stuff, and the reward is that if he provides it Nemane agrees to talk about mutual interests.” That made Stefan blink. “You could try looking on the bright side, however daywalking doesn’t much appeal. Wouldn’t you rather live openly, a shining example of honourable vamp–human symbiosis, in a night without Bonarata? And have all vamps treat sheep as you do?”

I could see his mind working, the scope of it becoming clearer, and a human might have drawn sudden breath.

“I would, Mercy, and things about Wulfe that have of late puzzled me are making greater sense.”

“Will he protect or seek to dismiss Marsilia?”

“Protect, and annex. If you want his goodwill do not harm her, Mercy, tainted as she is.”

“I will meet force with force, Stefan, but I’m not after her, despite her awful laugh and worse treatment of you. And if she and Wulfe are together in this, or he’s pulling her strings, it shouldn’t be beyond them to make sure the … most committed traditionalists, say, those glad to obey any command of Bonarata’s and wipe Wulfe’s eye by ignoring his order of protection, _are_ in the forefront of an assault on this house. Which in the event might be good news all round. How would Bonarata react to a defeat?”

“You are overconfident, Mercy.”

“Am I, Stefan? Gauntlet Boy and Blackwood thought so too. And others, here and there. Will you answer?”

“What would the Master do if a seethe attack in force were defeated? Strike again, far harder.”

“Meaning Lenka Yakovlevna and his inner cadre of enforcers?”

“Probably. If you killed any of them he would come himself.”

“My, my, my, said the spider to the fly.” He blinked. “Stefan, no offence but there are things I am _not_ going to talk about. Just think about what open preternatural alliance has already managed, and how hidebound as well as genuinely ignorant Bonarata is. Does he truly not know how seethes fare against packs in North America, that he is unconcerned by wolf alliance with both Fae and avatars, though each has a visceral hatred of undeath? It beats me. But I will bet he doesn’t have the first idea that when Wulfe told ap Lugh She of Livorno had been dismissed, ap Lugh hastened to tell the Marrok, while Wulfe knew exactly what he was starting.” I took another breath, wishing Stefan could still do likewise. “Candidacy has forced my hand, and that is not Wulfe’s doing, but his hand is in this too, Stefan, and not lightly. How his speaking for Nemane as well as ap Lugh to hear plays in I have no real idea, and you’ll know better about Marsilia, but the rest surely includes sweet revenge on a faithless child and his own long-term survival with the least personal inconvenience.” I shrugged. “And just maybe, given his improved sheep, he’s decided the best interests of North American vamps are served by putting himself on the right side of the Medicine Wolf Accords — coming out successfully, meaning no vamp trying to be honest can’t get by. Which as things stand is not so easy, hence the need for a little help from his friends.”

Stefan sighed. “You are making far too much sense, Mercy. I will talk to Wulfe tonight, _very_ quietly, and will not be surprised if he does wish to relay that financial data. Your advice to get out of town and lie very low seems increasingly compelling. I hope you survive, Mercy, but it is no more than hope. None have crossed Bonarata for centuries and done so.”

“That he knows about.” Stefan blinked again. “In any case, if Wulfe wants to talk, or Hao, and the phone won’t do, I’m willing to meet, but only here with fair notice. There would be guards. Be aware that … strategic relocation without signing up to Code will not be much of an option. The Canadian and Mexican borders will be watched, full moons are covered, and the human part of the alliance will be international — patchy, no doubt, but that’s their problem, and they will be briefed. The best renegades can hope for when caught is deportation in an unbreakable plastic coffin, and we both know there’s going to be a lot of dust before it’s done. That’s Bonarata’s doing though, in his stupidity.”

“You think him stupid?”

“Is wholly ignoring problems that are fast going critical anything but stupid, Stefan? The Marrok warned Marsilia, and so did I. Maybe it’s indolence, inertia, or complacence, but those all qualify as some kind of stupid. Rulers who think duty runs one-way usually come to grief, and given vamp blood- and mindties Bonarata’s centuries of rule have built him a net of compulsion, not loyalties. Even Marsilia doesn’t _like_ him, does she? Nor you, Wulfe, or Hao. And in the nature of vamp ties only dismissal of the dominant will solve the problem. So I will do everything I can to make sure it’s the right dust, meaning to the deep benefit of those still not breathing who will accept a deal to avoid an undeath on the run. I hope you’ll do the same, Stefan, and unless you ask me to I will not rescind your invitation here. If this betrayal is beyond bearing I will understand and regret, but my goal is a world where your kind and mine can meet in peace and mutual tolerance, if not with any warmth.”

I wanted to cry, and holding it back started a headache, but the silence was soothing, broken only by the noises of fire gnawing at logs. Stefan was rereading the documents, pausing to look into the fire from time to time, and a nudge from Darryl using my packbond had me opening in query and receiving a pulse of emotions from him and Joel — strong approval, compassion, understanding of conflicted honour — that siphoned away the headache. I looked gratitude, and though both remained sharply alert, they’d lost some wariness, witness joining guard-duty. Stefan looked up.

“Kyle?” I nodded. “Thank him for me? As you say, Mercy, maybe, just maybe. It has been too easy to forget what you are, even with your not-exactly father popping up on TV so often.” He shook his head. “I have been in the West long enough to know many tales of Coyote and his dancing, and how strongly you stand between kinds.”

“Coyote in the middle, always. Which reminds me. Our friendship came up in conversation with Underhill, who was puzzled by it. I told her I thought your continuing senses of honour and humour are linked, and she’s thinking about that, not least because I accidentally put the Fae on their mettle about their own sense of humour, so she’s also working on her own. Who knows, but if you were to bump into a fae problem somewhere, it might be that politely offering negotiations or just walking away would prove acceptable.”

Stefan had gone back to staring. “You speak to Underhill directly?”

“Quite often. And though Baba Yaga is the Fae ambassador, I’m presently the main contact between the Gray Lords and the Man. Who will be endorsing me, by the way.”

Stefan’s manner had given me a little more hope, and for the first time he cracked a grin, so I added Irpa’s candidacy in what California ward, with a senatorial candidate in Kentucky into which I had cajoled Bran, and the grin became a smile.

“That sounds entertaining, Mercy.” The smile faded. “And I begin to see what you mean about the threat environment.” He glanced down at the papers. “These are cleverly as well as carefully done, and your logical case strong. But Bonarata is not driven by logic.”

“I know. But do encourage him any way you can to stick his heart out, so I can stake it.”

He considered me. “I very much doubt staking will suffice for him, Mercy. If you _should_ get the chance, use fire and decapitation as soon as ever as you may.” He looked thoughtful. “I never met She of Livorno, but Wulfe said all were needed, with sunlight, and Bonarata was there.”

“He grabbed some powers of survival, you mean? Figures. Would it happen that ever since he has vaunted his immunities to vamp magic?”

Stefan frowned. “You know much I would not expect.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. So he individually needs the fullest whammy. Surprise. So did the River Devil and Cantrip.” I wasn’t going to let alarm show, but was wondering hard what else might even out the vamp-scotching odds. “Bottom line, Stefan, is still that while none of us except maybe humans would go it alone, Fae, Wolves, and Elder Spirits have joined humans to demand US vamps shape up or ship out. And what any vamps you care for need to be doing is thinking about the fact that three kinds of preternatural have found walkable Paths of Assertion and Mercy to share with humans, and we’re offering vamps an opportunity to be the fourth. Please take it. I don’t think many of us will have second chances in all this, but we all have one big chance, if we get it right. And it was always gonna blow wide sometime. This way we get a jump on it.”

He looked at me steadily. “I know. And I am thinking many things, Mercy, including that the odds are perhaps better than I am used to supposing, however they remain … fearful.”

“Yeah. And outside North America a nasty standoff is very possible.”

“Quite. But you remain … if not overconfident, Mercy, then I must hope with very overladen sleeves.”

“You could say, Stefan. But I’m not going there, and not because you’re a vampire. Even coyotes understand need-to-know, and the stakes involved, sorry, are enough to command my fullest attention.”

“I take no offence, Mercy. It is wise. I am only set to wondering.”

“Wonder away. Just don’t say anything sensible about me to anyone, please, before it happens.”

“No. I will not squander any edge you have gained.” He came to some decision. “And I disagree about one thing, Mercy, for this is no betrayal, however it weighs upon our friendship. It is not the first thing to do so, however it may be the last. And this I say now is no betrayal either, for I have never sworn oath to Bonarata, nor does he command my honour. He will first send one to kill swiftly without fuss, and if that one is foiled he will be enraged. Then he might order Marsilia to attack in force, or send his own foremost fixers. I will not act against Marsilia save in self-defence, but were that seethe mine I would undoubtedly purge it, as would Wulfe, so I can hardly object to anyone else doing so, if, as you say, the right dust results.”

He rose carefully, tucking papers and flash drive into a pocket. “I will let you know what I can, when I can, Mercy, but things may happen fast.”

“We go, we go, we go to war” I agreed. “But unless I’m completely wrong and Wulfe flips at the mere idea, I think the waiting will run a while yet. Neither of us want attrition, only as clean a blow as we can manage, and while honour demands the ultimatum, the deadline will be six weeks. I realise declaring oneself in opposition is tricky, and no-one needs anything premature, but once it breaks the good should not dawdle. There is a tide in the affairs of vamps. And at our end I’ll tell Westfield to have Vampire Registration hotlines ready and waiting, and give him Wulfe’s number, because you’re right that when this does happen it’ll happen fast.” I looked at him with a sense of melancholy. “You were a true courtier to a genuine prince once, weren’t you, Stefan?”

He nodded, face still. “I was, Mercy, and he would have disdained Bonarata as I do. But that world is gone, and only the worst of its perversions remains, in and with him.”

“Not the point, Stefan. I don’t mean to pry needlessly, but I’ve always thought you regretted more than losing your … I won’t say humanity, but mortality. You regret the work you did as a human. I’ll also bet you were good at it. An honest prince’s politician.”

His smile was as austere as I’d ever seen from him. “I might have become such, Mercy, had I lived. And you are not wrong my loss yet rankles, for it was what I was born to do.”

“So maybe it can become what you died to do, _amigo_. I will hope so.”

The smile stayed, deepening in pain and hope. “I had thought there were no princes worth serving left, but perhaps there is after all a _princesa_ , as your friend Asil thinks.”

“Not for me to say, Stefan, but if I make it to Camelot, you can be Sir Scooby, and not just for the SCA. Oh, and there’s a strand I’d forgotten, because it’s all so contingent, but I’ll have to come clean about wolf and avatar longevity, while vamps are by definition undead. We’re planning to try to direct human curiosity into historical round tables, and there’ll be one on the early American West with Warren, Irpa, Coyote, and avatars. You’d be welcome, if and when, and could tell Wulfe getting other older ones to offer historical witness would be the kind of PR vamps are going to need badly once they’re out. Hao would be good at that.”

Austerity cracked into mirth. “Ah, Mercy, Mercy. Only you.”

“I’m not joking, Stefan. Or it’s a useful joke. If I make it, Amerindian history is in for a major corrective boost, and there will be a formal request for preternatural witness of racial interaction on this continent. Also on the PR front, there will be bereaved sheep needing medical and psychiatric care. The Man has allocated budget, but help from registered vamps will help everyone, and bed down ideas of good and bad vamp practice. A chance to become good vamps, helping humans bad vamps have messed up. I know it’s hard, and goes against a long grain, but openness is the way forward. The hashtag will be _#DaywalkingByNight_.”

Mirth lingered, complexities swirling. “Oh yes. I hear you about the bereaved, and thank you for that care. And your gift for hashtags has not deserted you, Mercy, though I must. Be as careful as you can, and I hope your luck continues true. Give Jesse my regards, please. Farewell, all.”

I opened my mouth to return Jesse’s to him, but he translocated, vanishing with a soft _pop_ as air filled sudden vacuum, and I stood for a moment, wondering, before pushing it aside. I’d thrown the dice, and they’d come up snake-eyes or whatever as they would, so it was my job to get back inside. Joel stayed to bank the fire, and I wasn’t half-way to the door when Adam came out. I walked into his arms, and let him hold me while twitching muscles relaxed. But curiosity was squirming, his ear close.

“What did you think, love?”

“That you’ve been spot on all along. He didn’t know about Wulfe, but knew something was happening and you joined a lot of existing dots while adding a bunch more.” He shifted to arms’ length and gave me a kiss. “And coloured everything in neatly. Good dance, love, with honour intact and acknowledged. He can’t quite believe you can take Bonarata, and I sympathise, but I’ve seen and known you win at worse odds.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“River Devil, seen, Manannán, known. Bonarata’s younger, far smaller, and a great deal more killable, whatever he got from She of Livorno.”

“True. But we need to think about that. Can you carry a concealed flamethrower?”

Adam, Darryl, and Brent all stared.

“Not easily, love, and permits would be tricky.” Adam frowned. “Though I can’t see why you shouldn’t in principle, and who knows what the Army might have tucked away?”

“Investigate, hey? The Joint Chiefs should play ball. If wooden slugs don’t stop Bonarata, a bigger stake lodged through him into whatever ought to allow trying a second method. Molotov Cocktails if flamethrowers are out? And decapitation. I’ll talk to Carnwennan.”

“Do.” Adam was as serious as I was. “A wolf could have a sword, though it’d attract comment.”

“Could a taser be jacked enough to cause combustion?”

“Probably, for a one-shot.” Darryl shook his head. “Law enforcement would _not_ like it.”

“Tough. One for Westfield. He did say to ask if we wanted more.”

“Yeah, he did. Irpa seems confident troll clubs work on everything.”

“True, but She of Livorno’s leftovers might be very weird magic, and for all Nemane was clear fae magic can’t inhabit a non-fae body, I’m not so sure, and neither is Skuffles. I’ll talk to Irpa, but I can’t see that some power of resistance or, I dunno, deflection, couldn’t exist.”

We started walking again, and Joel caught us as we reached the kitchen, where Jesse looked up, mouth opening and closing again as I held up a hand, turning to Adam.

“The problem is a first strike with enough to immobilise, so a second can go home.” Which was pretty much what I’d done to Manannán, with Underhill’s help, which I had again. Adam nodded. “So, suppose some people have speciality rounds. Maybe Underhill could do fragmenting ones — a groin full of splinters ought to be worth something as a distraction. Or Blackwood Corp explosives — real damage to inhibit mobility. Give Irpa time for a haymaker, or someone a chance to strike a match.”

“Harpoons.” We looked at Jesse. “Like in James Bond. They pin people to things.”

“True, Jesse. Shoulder-holstered harpoons are a problem, though.”

Jesse shrugged. “So someone can carry one at port arms. Or build it into a campaign banner or whatever. What’s the problem, anyway?”

“Bonarata may be magically dismissal-resistant in some way. Stefan thinks multiple methods will be needed.”

“Oh. Right. But harpoons anyway. They can carry voltage, too, on a trailing wire. And explode. It was on a National Geographic show.”

“Huh. Sounds good. I agree an obvious harpoon would attract questions we don’t want, but maybe one can be disguised. If we have slow time, popping off a sprung cover would make no odds.”

Adam nodded, a look in his eye. “True. The CIA for that, if Westfield agrees. And oddly, your playing Q as well as M is a serious turn-on.”

“Hold that thought, love. I’ve hardly eaten all day and there is at least one of Benny’s miracles yodelling my name. More probably two.”

“Yodelling?” Jesse was quizzical. “You want some kind of Swiss pizza?”

“Nah. Triple pepperoni. The yodelling is just to herald its imminent birth and _satori_ , in my very empty stomach.”

“OK.” I got a daughterly look. “It went well, then, and Stefan’s OK? Dad wouldn’t let me watch.”

I gave Adam a grateful look. “Some things you shouldn’t see me do, ex-kiddo, and that was one, however it went better than I’d feared. Stefan sent you regards but vanished before I could return yours. I —”

My phone rang with the opening of ‘Twenty-First Century Schizoid Man’, and Adam eyes met mine. I answered the call.

“Hello, Wulfe.”

“Mercedes Elf-friend, and Troll-friend I hear.” His voice was close to a vampire purr. “I bet myself you would see, and am happy both to win and to lose. Marsilia is mine, though I hear and will heed your warning. By all means give Westfield my number, and tell Charles Cornick and Baba Yaga to check their inboxes.” There was the briefest pause. “Iacopo can daywalk, as Stefan, Marsilia, and I can, though none other here, and but seven of those who surround him, with Lenka. I trust you will share how very helpful I’m being with Nemane. And your Code is better than I had feared, if cleverer than I had hoped, and even resists our inevitable contempt for its nature, a little.” I waited out a longer pause, and heard his sigh. “You grow as strong as I thought, and have held up your end. I will hold up mine, by my word as Iacopo’s maker, and you have my fullest let to try to dismiss him in any manner whatever that works.”

The connection was cut, and my eyes met Adam’s again.

“Make that quadruple pepperoni, and I’ll make some calls.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Going by cloak we didn’t have to leave for Denver until a few minutes before noon, when the meeting would start, but I was not destined for any let-up. We were still at the table, breakfast barely a memory, when my phone started playing ‘Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy’, and Adam quirked an eyebrow.

“Does he know you assigned that?”

“Pass” I tapped. “Good morning, Gwyn ap Lugh.”

<And to you, Mercedes Elf-friend. Charles Cornick is flying, I gather, and Baba Yaga busy with some of the swifter hackers assigned, laughing the while, so it falls to me to tell you the data Wulfe the Sorcerer sent is a true earnest.>

“I am glad to learn it. He asked me to be sure to tell Nemane how very helpful he is being.”

<She knows, and was impressed by your handling of Stefan Uccello the Warrior, however she is unlikely to tell you so. So was I. You read the situation with clarity.>

“Maybe, Gwyn ap Lugh, but it takes more than coyote eyes to fathom Wulfe. And I am not happy about Bonarata’s possible resistance to staking. Is it possible Underhill might be still less bored if I ask about fragmenting rounds? Or a pocket flamethrower?”

He laughed. <The first, probably, the second, not, though Joel Arocha can project magmatic heat beyond himself at will. And we too heard those words with interest. Nemane was not wrong about fae magic, but concedes some aspect of it melded with black witchcraft might have been taken, especially if Bonarata had some immunity to magic.>

“Which moving successfully against She of Livorno would strongly suggest. Might you talk to Irpa? I will be glad of ideas. We’re investigating boosted tasers, and Jesse points out that harpoons can carry explosive or charges as well as tangling lines. You could think about decapitation.”

There was still amusement in his voice, but genuine agreement too. <So we could, but no Undead has ever survived a troll club.>

“Mmm. Still, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, if you’d back one against She of Livorno, why didn’t you, long ago?”

<There is that, Mercedes Elf-friend, and I do not forget that you bear greater risk. We will do what we can and may, and you have Irpa’s number. What should we do with the Undead’s money after we have stolen it?>

Adam and I exchanged a look. “Won’t the Feds sit on it?”

<What they can, yes. And Baba Yaga advises some allowance for hackers to have fees met and egos stroked. But there is a great deal of it, Mercy, and your campaign could surely use some.>

“Huh. Let me think.” I did, watching Adam waggle a hand dubiously but pondering the ironic justice available. “Nice idea, but I’m not sure it’s the best use of a windfall, Gwyn ap Lugh. What about a public, preternaturally administered Path of Mercy fund? Some could go back to vamps to benefit sheep, but enabling legal anti-bigotry action, say, and helping distressed leprechauns or whatever would make a serious point. We could call it the Borrowed Warchest.”

Adam and Jesse were giving big thumbs-ups, and ap Lugh’s voice became very dry.

<Now _that_ is clever. I shall speak to Bran Cornick, Baba Yaga, and Grant Westfield. He will be willing, I think, however the Treasury demurs.>

I shrugged. “Don’t count your windfalls before they’ve fallen. Their problem. One of ours is that now we know there really is a Wulfe’s Warriors reform faction, we need to be sure the right dust accumulates. You recall my words to Stefan about perhaps bumping into a fae problem?”

<Of course.>

“And would it happen there are protocols in place for encounters between any fae and Undead who are onside?”

<Point, Mercedes. There soon will be.>

“Fair enough. Wolves are more used to that.”

<So they are. But striking no first blow should cover most of it.>

“Surely, Gwyn ap Lugh, but forgive me, that _most_ has a little too much … play in it. If Stefan were not a being of honour, our conversation would have been very different, and those who sign are giving their words.”

<Yes. I hear you, Mercedes, respecting scruple.> Dry became complex. <Speaking of which, Underhill has thought about ducks, but they fare no better here than humans, and adopted your name for her fountain with glee. She says she is considering an ice sculpture.>

I didn’t ask what of, which took some doing. “I am again glad to hear it, Gwyn ap Lugh, and trust we all find some more uphill justice in due course. Will the Fae respond to my addresses to the state legislatures?”

<Certainly. We are glad to welcome fair proposals and reassertion of the Yakama Nation’s Sacred Space, as to welcome and commend your putative candidacy and its later confirmation.>

“Assuming.”

< Much moves around you, Mercedes Elf-friend, and enough humans will leap into line. Are you looking forward to it yet?>

“I’m beginning to, Gwyn ap Lugh. Ask me again when Bonarata’s dust. Is there anything else urgent?”

<No, only Wulfe’s earnest and the stolen money. Fare well in Denver.>

He rang off, and I looked round the table.

“ _Dracula’s Stolen Billions_ , anyone?”

There were grins.

“As much as that, Mom?”

“I’d think, Jesse. And I’m sure the campaign would benefit more from the Borrowed Warchest than any direct donation.”

Brent nodded. “Smart thinking, Mercy. You should put it out there as soon as it breaks. Yeah there are vamps, big problem all round, but we’re fixing it, and we just burned a way serious hole in their wallets, to help their victims and reduce the tax burden. If the Feds can freeze individual seethe funds it’d be a good lever to incentivise signing up.”

“Point.”

I sent an e to ap Lugh, Charles, and Baba Yaga. Bran would be busy, and this afternoon was soon enough. I was wondering if my pretty much father deserved a call when he walked in sporting his usual grin.

“Are we really going to steal the bloodsuckers’ money for a warchest?”

“It’s an idea. Hi dad, and all that. How are you this morning?”

“Chipper, distinctly daughter. Are you still upset about your Stefan?”

“Some, yeah. It was not fun.”

“But it’s done, he’s thinking about it all, and you were right about the weirdness of Wulfe, so cheer up.” He dropped into a chair. “And you get to trot out your delightfully surprising Alphaness all over those poor wolves, so what’s not to like? I’m tempted to come as an official observer.”

Adam gave him an edgy smile. “If Bran doesn’t mind, Coyote, and only if. But yeah, I have some anticipation about that. We’re a bit exercised about Bonarata’s reported resistance to staking, though.”

Coyote shrugged. “If one doesn’t work, try two. Or a grenade could have a wooden case.”

“Mmm. Explosions go all ways. What brought that on?”

“Those German grenades with handles. I was watching _Kelly’s Heroes_.”

Adam laughed. “One of the few war films where anyone has to reload. Mercy’s right about scatter, but a shaped PE charge might be a winner.”

“Sounds good to me. But honestly, daughter, avatar bulk is probably your best bet. If Jill Widepaw’s bear is sitting on Bonarata’s severed head, it won’t be rejoining his body in a hurry even if it still wants to. And Irpa could just stand on any bits of him.”

“Un huh. But if I’m on national TV when all this happens, which seems horribly possible, I don’t want two wriggling bits of Bonarata spitting out stakes and curses while I scratch my head and explain to the watching millions it always worked before.” Coyote laughed, but Jesse looked thoughtful. “I know it’s a longshot, but ask my aunts and the spirits if there’s any extra trick to dismissing in anyone’s armoury?”

“I can do that, but there’s nothing I know of besides sunlight, staking, decapitation, and fire. Salt makes newbie bodies crumble, and you don’t need as much as for wendigos, only a pound or two.”

“Anything in the garlic trope?”

“Nah. Doesn’t hurt a mosquito, never mind a vamp. I did try stone knives once or twice, but I had to cut their heads off anyway.”

“Any other plant or substance have any effect at all?”

“Not that anyone’s discovered. A magic sword’s a better bet.”

I had an idea about that, and sent Bran a message. It turned out Coyote really did intend to come to Denver, mostly for his own amusement, so far as I could tell, even if it was thinly cloaked in officially observing as an Elder Spirit so I sent Bran another message, and excused myself to run an errand. Brent looked at me very oddly as we came back.

“I’m just playing the odds, Brent. You do what you can.”

“Yeah, I get that. It’s just your _can_ is wider than I’m quite used to.”

“Un huh. Just remember I feel the same.”

He took that under advisement, but Adam was happy, Jesse thought it cool, while Coyote just laughed again. When Darryl arrived we brought him up to speed on Wulfe’s earnest and its consequences, which made him grin, and what else was ticking over. Adam set him to calling Jenny, Andrea, and Leslie with the same summary, excusing himself to cram in some work as a bulwark against next week. Jesse snagged Coyote’s ear with the many possibilities of harpoons, probably unwisely but keeping him at the table pilfering brownies, which was good enough. I really wasn’t nervous, Alphas being less intimidating than they used to be, and my credit with them good, but given the week coming up full cookie tins were sensible, so I baked all the same. I had a second batch cooling when my phone rang, this time with the strange noises opening Van Dyke Parks’s ‘G Man Hoover’.

“Good morning, AED. Problem?”

<Hello, Ms Hauptman, and that depends. A Borrowed Warchest? I’m not sure my brief covers having that much money … misappropriated.>

“By all means check with the Man, AED. It was only an idea, but there will be some pressure because as a symbolic statement we think it’ll play very well with both preternaturals and humans. Do you disagree?”

<Not at all. But the Federal Government bears a high cost for law enforcement, and seized assets are a necessary as well as just offset.>

“I’m not greedy, AED, but preternaturals have borne and are bearing high costs also, avatars and wolves especially. And I’d think more than the Farouts would be happy if a preternatural fund was doling out grants to vamps whose sheep need whatever.”

There was a pause. <Points, Ms Hauptman. I will consult. On other matters, special rounds and weapons are not a problem, and I trust your people to be careful, but any Secret Service detail watching you ought to be briefed.> He paused again. <Harpoons?>

“Down to Jesse and National Geographic, AED, but possible stake-resistance is not good news so we’re playing Q in earnest. If Bonarata can resist sunlight and staking, we’re down to decapitation and immolation, so he has to be slowed enough to try. Harpoons can carry tangling cord or explosive heads. Decapitation we have covered, but incendiary projectiles can be high tech as well as magic. Ask the CIA if they can make a bullet with hypergolics that’ll mix on impact, or anything they can think of that’ll produce a temperature spike of at least several hundred degrees?”

I could hear his distaste. <Very well.>

“It won’t happen unless Bonarata himself comes at me, AED, but if he does we will need _everything_ we can get. War always means R&D overdrive. And I’m asking for the hotlines and warchest because they’ll be carrots and sticks to save vamp unlives.”

<So they will.> He sighed. <I wasn’t criticising, Ms Hauptman, just …>

“Freaking a little? Me too, AED, but needs must. We wouldn’t hesitate about a .750 grain to take down a rabid rhino, and Bonarata’s worse. It’s a magical problem, and I suspect the answer will be magical, but while even extensive injury doesn’t dismiss vamps, it can sure slow them down.”

<And security plans for the possible. I don’t have to like it.>

“None of us do, AED, and it is a sort of assassination attempt, however triggered in response to one coming the other way. But Bonarata can always choose to comply. Besides, do you really want to be responsible for holding a septuacentenarian, foreign national, translocating, daywalking vampire ex-dictator?”

I saw amused agreement around the table.

<Now you mention it, Ms Hauptman, dismissed resisting arrest does seem unhappily attractive, even with a hypergolic harpoon involved.>

“That’s the spirit, AED. Was there anything else?”

<Two things, I’m afraid. You think hotlines will need to process registration very fast. I believe I understand why, but …>

“Fair enough, AED, though there are limits. One question is what scale of attack triggers the strikes on seethes? I doubt the answer is one hitvamp, and if Marsilia’s seethe is ordered to attack, and purged, she and Wulfe could act more openly. That’s another reason I want the Borrowed Warchest leaked preternaturally. But if two attacks have not triggered strikes, what will? Number three ought to be Big Guns, and unless everything stretches longer than I’m expecting, or Wulfe’s Warriors are way more distributed among seethes than I can easily believe, there will be a whole bunch of vamps on the fence when it goes down — which is very probably when it breaks wide to the public, and I shall have dropped myself right in it on TV everywhere yet again. So assuming a bunch of Bonarata’s most feared and trusted are at that point dust in the wind, I’ve called the Man to say _Geronimo_ , and shortly have a camera in my face, I’ll need to say something to vamps as well as my bug-eyed nation. Who knows what time of day or night it’ll be? But with task forces rolling at seethes I’d very much rather the lines didn’t get crashed by call volume.”

<Yes, indeed. Thank you. The added detail is helpful. Would you, ah, anticipate any pre-registration?>

“Who knows, AED? Talk to Wulfe, and Wulfe only. Try an hour or so before sunset. He can be awake and most can’t.”

<Noted.> He sighed again. <Live and learn.>

“Or die and learn, AED.” I heard Adam welcoming Ramona and Carla in the hall. “What was the last thing? I need to go shortly.”

<Only you, Ms Hauptman. Leslie said you wanted to speak to Wiseman, and I agree it’s time. He knows they need a vampire division fast, and is neither inefficient nor a ditherer, but needs advice.>

“I bet. Off the top of my head, he should forget strike teams. They’re our business now, not his longer term. What will be is enforcement. Details are impossible until we can talk to Wulfe openly, but in principle he needs registration of vamps and sheep, quotidian monitoring, and enforcement.”

<Also yes. Forgive me, but are you going to call them sheep in public?>

“I will probably explain the term, because they are under magical possession and consent is history with the second or third feed. But I agree it’s pejorative. Suggestions for handy alternatives welcome.”

<Huh. There are always bureaucratic acronyms.>

“Spare me, AED.” My mind suddenly spun. “Or maybe not. A division for Special Help and Education for the Enraptured by Preternaturals might play better than you’d think. My ever-so father is giving me a look of parental pride. We need a proper term, though. Personal Blood Donors is neutral, but saying PBDs is no fun, so I’m happy the FBI are on the case.”

Westfield snorted. <It’ll liven the Monday briefing, Ms Hauptman.> He became serious again. <The … I’ll say black humour matters, doesn’t it? It’s not just … coping?>

“Yeah, it does, and no, it isn’t. Or not just me coping, anyway. I usually call it WD-40, but Anna says it’s a form of zen. And, more oddly, justice.” I gave in to temptation. “This isn’t for repetition, AED, but I learned recently that Manannán disapproved of fountains, and Underhill has made a little of what was left of him into one that flows up, not down. I managed to christen it the Fountain of Uphill Justice. And some more of Manannán may yet become a duckpond. I can hope. You know how much damage short bad lives can do, AED, and it’s one of the things you most hate, I think, so you’ve probably thought about the damage really long bad lives can do. Inflicting comedowns on the dead is an often necessary ritual one of my wolf brothers would call cathexis. And I genuinely think sheep have made a truly silly and weak decision. So do most preternaturals. Surrendering your will is not only dim but a long step towards abomination. No name will remove the stigma, though improved standards of … shearing might take the edge off. Anyway, I’m out of time. Denver beckons.”

<Denver? Huh. I won’t ask.>

“Which will save me not answering, AED, but don’t call back for a while. Please text a Warchest answer soonest, though.”

He said he would, and I determinedly set the phone to vibrate only, while Adam tapped his watch in the doorway.

“I know, love, but really.”

“Welcome to your future, decisive daughter.” Coyote was still grinning. “You’re on a roll again. Marvellous. Now go dress for things to do in Denver when you’re not dead. And calm down, soldierly son-in-law. She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars has entrances down cold, and who cares if she’s five minutes late?”


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Walking out of an archway past wary Denver Pack guards, Adam and Darryl flanking me, with Ramona, Carla as her second, and a softly whistling Coyote behind, I wasn’t so sure of that, but it was only 12:02. The venue was a conference centre in the foothills of the Rockies, owned by the local Alpha, so no-one was present except wolves, Coyote and me, but he had his whole pack on duty, a gut-reaction to having Bran and more dominant Alphas present.

Entering the main auditorium I could feel massed Alpha power and curiosity. Adam and Darryl were closed against it, but while it was right there it didn’t bother me. How I could ignore others’ dominance yet assert my own was a puzzle no-one had answered, but it didn’t feel wrong and was certainly handy. Other things struck me. A year ago I’d have heard most names but couldn’t have put a quarter to faces ; now only a dozen were unknown, and all looked warier than not, another welcome departure. More importantly, beyond Ramona and Angus, several were somewhere on the acquaintance–friend borders — José Urillo of El Paso and Isaac Owens of Boston, from addressing the pink rallies ; Hank Dawson of Houston from that and Paul’s court martial ; Bill Davis of Sacramento through Mary ; Mark Hurley of Boise through Kyle’s work for one of his wolves ; Tom Yearman of St Louis, who’d quietly asked Adam’s advice about recognising female dominance, and taken it — so I was giving and receiving friendly nods. And courtesy was going to matter, so I held up a hand and named Coyote to everyone as a self-appointed observer for Elder Spirits, and he held up a hand, striking a pose in Indian fashion.

“How, massed Alphas of the Marrok. May all your fur ever grow longer.”

Ramona laughed, everyone else looked nonplussed, and I rolled my eyes. “He’s reading Tolkien again, on account of some huorns. Don’t worry about it. And sorry we’re a tad late, Bran, everyone. I had to field some calls.”

He quirked an eyebrow from the raised daïs where he sat with Samuel, Charles, Anna, Asil, and Colin Taggart. Colin was secretary, Charles had AV controls and took my flash drive, and Asil remained, post-Medicine-Wolf, both much more relaxed and a self-avowed _aficionado de Mercy_.

“Anyone interesting?”

“Westfield. Ap Lugh earlier, about Dracula’s pilfered funds, which was why. But it can wait.”

“It can, but you thought very well again, Mercy, and amused Charles.” Charles and Anna gave me smiles, and Asil a thumbs-up. “The accuracy with which you read Wulfe is also impressive, so let’s update everyone.”

What order Bran did wolf things in was his business, but today’s deeper purpose was there in the front seats reserved for us. Alphas could sort themselves by dominance easily and sometimes did, but it didn’t translate into seating habits, and for many reasons Adam was usually happier in the middle of things. But today we sat quietly while Bran called everyone to order and ran crisply through events. It was factual, but he was pointedly constellating things around me, from the Man to Stefan and Wulfe, and ended by summarising the ultimatum I’d deliver, with who present, and what else would be happening. That produced whistles — billions hadn’t been wrong, and the first number wasn’t a one by some distance.

“In brief, all proceeds well, and is nearly set. Most of you have sent one wolf at least to SWAT squads, and that will ramp up next week. With Coyote here, avatar liaison can unroll some more, but that’s less urgent than first strikes on seethes. And we now know, thanks to Mercy, that there is indeed a vampire resistance to Bonarata, and Wulfe the Sorcerer did trail his bait before two Gray Lords with the coldest calculation. We do _not_ want to ring anyone’s bells before Mercy speaks to Bonarata Friday, but from noon that day all packs and closer kin will go to a war footing. Who knows what will come out of the vamp woodwork before this is done? And those who don’t police seethes, make sure your wolves are not complacent — vamps will be unusually mobile as pressure builds.”

He gave me a look I returned steadily.

“Mercy insists, rightly, that we must seek reform, not conspire to commit ethnic cleansing. We must be prepared to deal with vamps honourably, when they are being honourable. But it is important resistance be broken and trouble stopped fast, so know where your line is, and if it’s crossed don’t hesitate.” I held up a hand. “Mercy?”

I stood and turned. “One rider, everyone, which is please remember preternatural cooperation is available, and used well can reduce the death toll. And undeath toll. If a wolf is alone, a distressed or vacillating vamp might cross his or her line, when a wolf with backup will have depth in reserve. I know there will be a lot of dust created in this, but it matters a great deal that it is the right dust.”

“Distressed? The bloodsuckers don’t feel anything but hunger.”

The speaker was near the back, one of my unknowns, so I plucked a name from Adam as I pushed back anger, which wouldn’t help.

“That’s dangerous bull, David Farmer of Knoxville. Vamps feel emotions fine. What’s usually missing is a sense of humour and any principles beyond self-interest. Your pack doesn’t keep down a seethe, so I’d guess you’re going on lack of loyalty to sheep, and indifference to their deaths, but because you don’t repine deer you eat doesn’t mean you don’t have emotions.” There was laughter. “And everyone needs to remember that, however provoked, however necessarily, we are _outing_ them. There will be real and reasonable shock and resentment, and I don’t care what’s only _said_. No harm, no foul. But one thing Wulfe the Sorcerer and with any luck Stefan and Hao will do is complicate that with warmer feelings, and I may be able to add to that, depending on how things play out. So I ask you to tell your wolves to look for contradictions and inconsistencies in what vamps will be saying, and tap gently. Try pointing out the advantages of sponsoring vamps onto a Path of Mercy, hashtag _#DaywalkingByNight_.”

Quite a few looked confused, including Farmer, but others got it, and to my left, in the front row, Hank Dawson barked a laugh.

“How many enlightened vamps you reckon there are, Mercy?”

“I really don’t know, Hank. I was used to thinking none except Stefan and Hao, but it’s probably true two or three I’ve dismissed were among the worst, which skews my thinking. What I do know is they lack reason no more than emotion, and are going to be staring down a wide barrel with no allies, limited cash, nowhere to run, and big dissension in the ranks. Forced compliance is dandy, it being the compliance that matters.”

“Un huh. I hear you. Then again, vamps have cost me and many of us plenty, and there ain’t a one I’d call any kind of friend, nor wish anything but dust. And besides their being dead already, it ain’t as if it’d be any kind of bloodbath, now is it?”

I had mixed feelings about Hank, his cowboy persona sometimes grating, but I knew this was an opening offered. Hank would have strong feelings about vamps, as many wolves did, but he had them about ethnic cleansing too, and given his dominance, if I could pull him clearly onboard others would re-assess, fast.

“Morality aside, one kind, at least, Hank. PR.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“No maybes involved. I’m not doing this to be remembered for a genocide, and I’ve seen draft legislation making dismissing a vamp murder.” Eyebrows went up. " I grant boundaries will be blurry for a bit, but there _will_ be a test case sooner or later, and I doubt you’d like it to be one of your wolves that goes down for five hundred moons or whatever of silvered isolation.” Alphas winced, and I shrugged. “Murder carries a life term. But we can shortcut all this, because at root it’s a dominance thing, isn’t it? You’ve heard Bran say I’ve insisted on honour with Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, and the Man. All accepted it because planning genocide is wrong, period. You all will too, but it’ll come easier as an order from a dominant to do what you know is right anyway, so I’ll do that.”

“Will you _,_ Mercy? Hard to know who’s who, with you and Adam so close.”

“Depends how good your senses are, Hank, but we can sort that too.” I laid the cloak on my seat, with Manannán’s Bane and Carnwennan, and stood away from Adam, restricting our bond. He looked at me with anticipation, and I was interested myself. Backing down Alphas hadn’t been my thing, but if I really could now do what we both thought, I was going to feel a lot happier, and so was he. “For those who don’t see magic, the Marrok can confirm my mate bond with Adam is tightly restricted. Just Mercy here, Hank, and you’re nearly up to Adam’s weight, so try me.”

“Marrok?”

“Mercy does not lie.”

“Good enough.” Hank rose, dropping his dusty white stetson onto his seat, and stood five feet in front of me. I felt power build as he let his wolf forward and saw yellow in his eyes, but neither touched me. “Kneel!”

I grinned. “No thanks, Hank. I discovered Bran bounced past before I was three, and you’re not even close.”

The yellow faded. “Bounced past? Yeah, that sounds right. But you’re not there at all, Mercy. You’re immune to dominance, not dominant.”

“Like this. But I can turn it on, Hank.” I reached into myself, careful to pull only on my own crazy quilt of magics. “And now?”

The yellow snapped back as Hank’s eyes widened. “Hell.” He glanced at Bran. “Still just her? Damn. And you’re … Adam, could you stand by her, bond still closed but open yourself?”

“Sure.”

Adam did, and Hank looked between us several times before the yellow faded again with a sense of confusion.

“Even steven, I’d say.” He scratched his head. “Are you co-Alphas?”

Adam smiled. “ _De facto_ , Hank. I have no problem with that, and might formally declare it sometime, if only for the fuss, but Mercy’s gonna have other things than pack to do for a while.”

“Yeah. Huh. Mated equivalence, you figure, despite her being coyote?”

“Yes. Mercy’s magics have driven it. And give it another level you should know about, but first I’m reopening our bond, because I dislike restricting it and I am with her in all of this.”

With the cloak back on and Manannán’s Bane in hand, we let them feel a wash of power that scented the air with roses. My experiments using the cloak to boost dominance had entertained Adam, and at bottom a lot of dominance was just willpower, as magical intent was, so they meshed. Now, with us both projecting and the cloak amplifying the result was a palpable weight, equal to displays I’d felt from Bran. A lot of yellow flickered, but none stayed for long when I met gazes, and we let it drop.

“So that’s us plus cloak and other magics acting to boost. And on top of that, though I do _not_ want this spoken of outside this room, there’s maxi-me, better known as Skuffles.” She appeared beside me as dazed Alphas sat up, and gave me a pleading look. “Go ahead.”

 _What a lot of Alphas._ Every one of whom went rigid in their seats, as Skuffles dropped her jaw while Coyote laughed. _Yes, I can talk. I am a very magical coyote, so why not? What matters, so far as reassuring you of Mercy’s potency goes, is that I have a_ lot _of teeth, and not always the same ones. These ones will work fine on wolves._ She showed ordinary enamel dentition, not that it was so ordinary. _But I can also make them silver, or wood for vamps, or iron for fae._

She showed each set, which had taken much advice and magic from Zee, Ariana, and others, but made me very happy and had Alphas gaping.

 _I have my own dominance, which is the same as Mercy’s with the cloak’s boost._ She let it show for a moment, air thickening. _And though Mercy gave me great independence, as I am more useful that way, she melded my magics and I am her as she is me, so her will is my will. If she or Adam or Jesse fight, so do I. And I am faster than any flesh can be._

As she showed, snapping left and right in a blurring rattle of skulls. Then all of us turned on the dominance, I gave the cloak and Manannán’s Bane free rein, including Carnwennan in politeness, and took a breath.

“Hear me well, all Alphas bound to Bran Cornick. Adam and I defer only to him as the Marrok, whose word is wolf law, but he does not gainsay us in this, and by our command no Alpha here present, nor any wolf of their packs, will ever needlessly dismiss any vampire. Moreover, those vampires who register and sign up to the Code of Conduct will be left unmolested while they observe it. So will their sheep.” I felt the order bite, and we let dominance drop. “When all’s said and done, guys and gal, and allowing for seduction and people being idiots, we’d call most Turnings forced, so think about where we’d be at if we’d all been as forcibly changed as the Freed. Talk to Ramona about that one. Does that sort it, Hank?”

“I reckon so, Mercy. Sheesh.” He shook his head, looking round. “I can’t naysay them, y’all, by a distance, and don’t want to anyway. Nor I can’t like bloodsuckers, but havin’ them out and regulated, with human backup and those neat wooden bullets, has to be a whole lot better than we got, even if it means some enforcin’ of our own, time to time. And for those wonderin’ if Mercy was fronting for Adam, or his to order, forget it. However it’s nuts, that’s one dominant coyote.” He frowned at Skuffles. “Or two. Even more nuts, but I’m not arguin’.”

He sat, reclaiming his stetson, and I glared at everyone.

“Anyone wondering either of those is _really_ not paying attention.” To almost anything. “There is a great deal I would do for Adam or Jesse without blinking, but not stooging into the White House. Get real. Adam and I are mated, not straight man and comic.” I hauled irritation in. “But I understand the dominance thing is confusing. Any words of wisdom, all-too-exactly father? Do I get it from you?”

Coyote grinned, not bothering to stand, though he did turn. “Not exactly, delightfully dominant daughter. And I don’t get the fuss. All canids can do dominance — it’s necessary for hunting-discipline — but not all run in packs large enough to make the hassle worthwhile. Timber wolves got theirs fixed on max when they were hunting megafauna, and wherever you weres came from, you picked that up. Coyotes left the big animals to you and smilodons, and satisfied ourselves with leftovers and small game. Doesn’t mean we don’t have the attitude when we need, and Mercy’s genes were close to source before she grabbed big chunks of nice strong magic from all over and stirred herself up so splendidly.”

That actually made sense. “OK. Thanks for the perspective.”

“No problem. But if we’ve established that you can do what you like anyway, and all these fine wolves are necessarily good with it, can we get on to what you _are_ going to do, which is the interesting bit?”

He wasn’t wrong, so with Adam and Skuffles contributing I laid out the madness one more time, Charles bringing up slides. To keep Coyote happy I included bison migration with being seriously greener, gave everyone a pretty map to look at and told Alphas on the probable route Darryl would send a detailed report, before adding, with more maps, Celilo Falls and the invitation to use it as a meeting-place, with the how of shielding plus wider reforestation. In deepening silence I got onto finance and other races that needed contesting, with news of some who’d be standing. After I confirmed Irpa his Alpha confirmed the Kentucky bicentenarian and silence disappeared as the age thing took over. Adam took point, for Warren and because his service record and TV exposure was a key factor.

“We’ve all known it was coming, and none of us like it. So what? We have to deal, this way is now necessary, and Mercy’s already given us a better handle on it than any of us ever managed.” He explained vamps as distraction, cover, and dilution, with history round tables and fae, avatar, and putative vamp participation. “Discouraging wannabes will be a bad burden for a while, probably ever, but races will play to age as strength and resource, and being straight about it and why we kept shtum will label us honest citizens. We’ve seen Mercy pull that trick before, and it worked very well, not least because of the contrast with her opponents. This time we have vamps as the countermeasure rather than Cantrip, but that’s even better, frankly, especially with some judicial briefing of PDs and mayors about just how much trouble we’ve spared them down the years. Yeah, there’ll be stupid questions, and freakouts and haters, like there aren’t now, but we’ll have humans who matter on side from the getgo, and unless someone does something silly, Mercy’s PR magic will catch the public. And for all the hassle, we lose the worry of keeping the secret.”

He paused to roll his head.

“Which brings up something else, because even allowing for newbies who are just wolf-dumb, the combination of commuting capital sentences, peace with vamps and fae, and the Path of Mercy means average wolf survival is rising, and the proportion of older wolves will increase. Bran, when was the last time two-thirds of your Alphas were over fifty?”

“1801.”

Adam gave a humourless grin. “When it was you and Samuel.”

“One more, but yes.”

“And my point is, though we’re out as wolves, we’re coming out again as elders, and that’s what we will increasingly be. At 68 and 69 David Christiansen and I are newbies next to Bran, Samuel, and Asil, and so are you, but David and I have plenty already we don’t care to remember. And we’ve spoken a time or two about what it’ll mean to become the only surviving Vietnam vets, finding we both feel obligations to remember as well as desires to forget. So while I understand why true elders don’t need anyone’s curiosity, let alone media attention, we have to flip attitudes on this one. Mercy?”

“Yeah. Seconding all that, and acknowledging I’m not a wolf and only half Adam’s age, I told the Gray Lords and Underhill that a Path of Mercy has to mean offering deep knowledge of the past when it is seriously needed, for whatever, and more passively, so humans who are interested and benign get _something_. Baba Yaga will use that DC embassy to provide a library scholars can consult. And though I’ve only known for a week that avatars are undying, the same applies, and I’ll be tapping them for Amerindian history. They’re used to being resources among First People. Now it gets wider.”

“If Anglos can find them.” Coyote shrugged. “But you’re not wrong, and I’ll be doing my bit with National Geographic — they’ve been nagging about the late Pleistocene, so we’ll go there. Raven and Snake are up for it. Salmon as well, as he’s very happy about the river being fixed, so we could get swimming sabretooths in. Memory Lane’s not so bad a trip, now and again, and any of us can say we don’t remember if we don’t want to answer.”

Asil laughed softly. “So we can, Elder One, not that it will silence any reporter. But Adam and Mercy are right, and all know it. Seeing this come towards us ever more swiftly, and with the grace of Medicine Wolf’s calm, Bran, Samuel, and I have been speaking of it, as we had not before. They both have far better reason than me to keep true ages unknown, but we will need an eldest known, and I seem to have volunteered.”

That was news, and I gave Bran a hard look, blandly returned, before switching to Asil.

“Are you sure, Asil? I do not and would not ask this of you.”

“I know, _mi princesa_ , but one result of being calmer is that I grow bored. And for one of us who is in four figures to speak with authority even deaf humans can hear of the curse of immortality is necessary.” He gave a smile and I saw he really did accept it, wondering just how powerful Medicine Wolf’s whammy had been. “I shall remember only common detail about the Caliphate but I did once meet Charlemagne, and the Reconquista was interesting.” His voice acquired his own, high dominance. “If this old _lobo_ can stomach it, so can all of you.”

“True.” Bran was still being bland, but pleased with the way things were going. “Medicine Wolf says that in this it will assist any older wolf in need. You have only to send them to Aspen Creek for a day. And time is passing.”

Digesting surprise and pondering consequences, I got back to the core policies all candidates would share, as well as the leeway they would have to propose others. Isaac Owens, José Urillo, and other non-Anglos were interested in the constitutional approach to equalities of race, gender, and kind, Charles putting up slides with Jenny’s proposed wordings, and there were suggestions about wolves and spouses who might be willing to stand. Educational stuff caught attentions, and Ramona, who’d been quiet, mostly, I thought, because she was busy filing names and faces, gave a crisp update on how the Freed’s college careers were shaping up. Wolf footballers and clutch hitters entertained us briefly, until Ramona added Public Safety films, the Alphas went cross-eyed, and she wagged a finger.

“Hey, we’re being everyone’s friendly neighbourhood werewolfpack, so of course we happily do things that save children’s lives. Washington State humans _love_ this idea, and my wolves think it’s fun as well as funny. Like forensics, it’s easy credit, and the right thing, so enough of the furry dignity already and get those tails wagging.”

Charles was holding in laughter, and Anna didn’t bother. Even Bran was amused, however a roomful of Alphas was looking croggled, so I ploughed on, adding the gun plan, which after some reacting they did like, and ending with a summary about Frank, laying out my reasoning.

“So that’s what, who, and why. As to how, Bran is clear he does not tell you how to vote, and you do not tell pack. Everyone’s conscience is their own. But anyone who _is_ on board needs to be active, as of Wednesday, with as much family as possible. Jesse will be reaching out to minors, and you can expect serious pressure from that direction. And yes, I am reaching out to _everyone_ , beginning with you. The whole vamp deal means half of everything is contingent — if Bonarata gets me, that’s that, but if I get him … well, who knows how I’ll be able to spin it, or what the nation’ll decide, but I have plans. And the half that isn’t contingent is, bottom line, momentum and PR. So first, if you’re on board, talk it up, shout it out, put it in play any which way you can, as often as you can. Do radio and TV interviews until you can’t bear another, and put your better wolves up too, if they’re willing.” Another slide popped up. “Voter registration drives and heavy social media, please — hashtags as needed locally, but use _#MercyForPresident_ , _#PathOfMercy_ , _#IDoNotNeedEnemies_ , and _#UsefulECoyote_.” The last got the laugh and groans I’d expected, and I gave an encouraging grin. “No-one has to agree with everything, just be clear the core stuff _can_ happen, and if it does we’ll all be working hard to make it a really good deal for humans as well as preternaturals. And I’m not aiming to be negative, but the US _has_ to learn to keep its sworn oath, so any candidate who wobbles on that needs to go down in flames, fast.

“Second, those on board, please reach out to any fae and half-fae in your territories, see where they’re at with instructions from Gray Lords, and co-ordinate. Quite a few attended DC hearings on the Farouts, and though full-blood fae are usually indifferent to human politics, half-bloods aren’t, and many are watching — earth fae and trolls particularly. And please get creative. Would a campaign stop be of use to you, and if so, what venue, what audience? Do you know people with sufficient clout it would be worth my while meeting them? Who else do your wolves, their spouses and kin, know, or can get to? Suggestions to me, Coyote, who’ll be marshalling First People, or Mary Oliver, my PA. And non-Anglos, wolf or kin, think about possible synergies. There are First People everywhere, not just in the West, and multiculture is what we want. Isaac, a lot of Southern pious have been listening to me, African-American and Anglo, and I’ve been trying to cultivate them. Would you be willing to push some Christian interracial and inter-species solidarity about stewardship?”

He would, as José Urillo and Ramona would with Latinx Catholics, though Ramona laughingly thought her newer Episcopalian links might be more responsive. Most Alphas had some of that from _Living Free and Moonbound_ , but Ramona gave extra fill, and as quite a few Anglo Alphas were Episcopalian, or its lapsed version, I upped expectations from that quarter.

“Third and last, whether you’re onboard or not, it comes down to me and your proper conservatism as Alphas. I am trouble, and you don’t need me to tell you that. I can’t help it, any more than breathing. But I have been working to make it _good_ trouble, and I don’t think I’ve done so badly by you, or anyone. I am _not_ , as in _not_ , calling in any kind of debt about Cantrip, nor will I ever. I aimed to take them down on Jesse’s and Adam’s account, not yours, and a lot of other beings made it happen. But I do ask you to remember, clearly, the curses you were all spewing when I marched out there and brought Caroline Taylor inside, and the relief, even satisfaction, you felt by that evening, and again next morning, when my shocking, grossly improper, and unnatural ability to use Alpha magic and Carnwennan to sever packbonds meant we could dodge the bullet the JLS fired via idiot Harris. Bottom line, yeah, there are good reasons coyotes and wolves don’t usually mix well. But I _am_ mated to Adam, and both Angus and Ramona have asked me to run with their packs, which I have with joy.”

“And useful instruction about scenting.” Angus was in the third row, and gave a wide smile. “Coyotes really do smell better than wolves.”

“Un huh. I still smell like wet dog in the rain.”

To me it was a very old chestnut, but there was more laughter, and self-mockery mattered. Nor was Angus done.

“Yup. But you could tell my wolves what they needed, Mercy, on four legs and two, and I hadn’t expected that. My bad.” He stood so he could swivel. “I spent the whole time, eighteen months back, going _what?_ _how?_ _which?_ as Mercy pulled iron after iron out of the fire. I couldn’t believe what she was pulling off, or how simply, unbelievably, and ruthlessly fucking tough she was being.” Angus rarely swore, in deference to Adam, and waved a hand in Adam’s direction, but made no apology. “We all make hard decisions. We’ve all killed, not only those whose actions have truly earned death. We all have ghosts. We all know what hanging tough takes. But how many of us have done it under the kind of pressure and assault Mercy was under in that week? And pulled that many rabbits out of who knows how many hats in the doing? _#SheCalledThunderbird_ , Mercy just happening to acquire King Arthur’s witchkilling dagger when she needed it, Medicine Wolf backing her on everything. But do you also remember Bran’s brief that week that in killing Manannán mac Lír against all odds she created and saw an opportunity to bring humans and Fae together in honest negotiation? Or the words Isaac spoke for us of her immediate analysis, that events bore out in every way? Or that on the back of it all Bran could ask Hank to wear a pink stetson on national TV?”

Hank barked another laugh. “And I’d do it again, however gays offend me. Push comes to shove, which it did, and is again, if someone has a gun and will point it where I think it should be pointed, I don’t care what they do in private. Angus is right, y’all. Mercy’s clean outta left field, but it’s applied left field, and right now we need a bunch of that a whole lot more than we need business as usual.”

Angus flipped a thumbs-up as he sat, Hank glowered impartially, and I wondered how to pick up again.

“All that’s not for me to judge, but what coyotes do is change the rules on people. I changed them on Guayota, Cantrip, the Man, and Paul Harris. Now I’m changing them on you, and yeah, you bet female Alphas are the thin end of a wedge. High time.”

I thought for a moment, and no-one interrupted me.

“Last thing is that, as Adam’ll tell you, I really did _not_ want to do this. Four years in the Beltway is one of my leading definitions of hell, and even getting Adam into a tux as First Gentleman is nothing like incentive enough. But Jesse told me I had to try, and she was right, so here I am, teeth gritted, and the last thing I’ll ask you to do is to have a serious one-on-one here, now, with the fellow Alpha you most trust. Whatever kind of trouble I am, I am not motivated by self-interest. Don’t you be, either.” I checked my watch. “Adam, Darryl, Ramona, Carla, Coyote, and I will be here for a few hours. Ask what you will of whom you will, but make a decision before you leave, please. I need tallies, and I ask for fair warning of any public wolf opposition.”

“I demand it.” Bran’s voice had some growl, and everybody nodded. “It is not forbidden, but any ambush will … greatly annoy me. Mercy has been honest with you. Be now honest among yourselves, bearing in mind your oaths as Alphas to serve the good of all wolves with your packs.”

I was off the hook while rows broke into knots and huddles that exchanged members. There was natural geographical bias among those who saw one another more often as neighbours, but that was overridden by shifts grouping senior and less senior, or reflecting ethnicity and piety. Questions were asked, and Farmer came to offer apologies with a reluctant promise to do his best. Others seemed more interested in a personal impression than any explanation of anything I’d said. An encouraging number had suggestions for candidates, human and half-fae as well as wolf, and a few pointed questions for Darryl that we tallied with interest, enjoying Darryl’s deadpan-to-snarky replies about Auriele, whom he relied on and would not order without Adam’s order, or the inestimable and proven benefits for any pack of having a coyote and a tibicena. Coyote was circulating, leaving grins and shaking heads in his wake.

“I shall recall this meeting with pleasure, Mercy.” Bran drifted up beside me. “Discombobulating massed Alphas has been my own preserve, but help is always welcome.”

“Dangerous words, Da.” Charles was scratching Skuffles. “I believe two Alpha coyotes who are pack but unbound to you might be enough for now.”

Bran shrugged. “The fae are right that Skuffles is a truly unexpected bit of magic. Have you tried the silver teeth on wolf flesh, Mercy?”

“Yup. Brent obligingly touched a fingertip, and yelped. Skuffles?” It exposed silver dentition, and Bran peered without touching. “The silver came out of the Freed, and I think Zee used that to give it an extra zap.”

“Ah. Someone certainly did something. And the wood?”

“Firehardened Underhill oak. The iron came from Zee, too, and he added steel edges.”

Skuffles showed those, and the edges and points of incisors, canines, and carnassials had a blue glitter. Charles whistled.

“Why metal does not prevent dematerialisation is a puzzle.”

“Says the wolf who grows clothes from thin air.”

_My teeth are not glamour. They are me, so when I go they do too._

Proving the point, two ruff-skulls ate ruff-roses, others appearing. _That_ was glamour and I adored it, but it was décor. Teeth were business.

Bran grinned. “You know, Charles, if I have two unsworn Alpha coyotes, you have Skuffles as a new … demi-sister? Is your maxi-me’s motto also _My vengeance is legend_ , by any chance, Mercy?”

“Or _What a long strange trip it’s still being._ ” Skuffles grinned at me, and I was glad she’d acquired my taste in music as well as everything else. I slung an arm round Charles, who gave me a suspicious look. “Is that a problem, big brother? You’re getting on famously with your new sister.”

“I am no fool, Mercy, so of course I am. Even your all-too-exactly father knows not to increase the peskiness of sisters without true need. And the spirits dance for you both, wildly so since news of Celilo Falls.”

I would have batted his arm, but he was always serious about spirits, so I thanked him and asked him to convey my greetings.

“They’re welcome, Charles. I’m surprised no-one’s asked me about the Sacred Space as meeting ground, though.”

“They are digesting it, Mercy.” Bran spread his hands. “For most, such a resource has not been a need, but they see well enough why it will be so for you and others. The wider benefits will be noticed in time.”

Charles nodded. “You pushed them further than they came believing possible, and they need to think it through. One-on-ones was a good ploy.”

“Pyramiding. Means everyone has to talk at least once.”

“Alphas do not need encouraging to talk.” Bran shrugged. “Few would have opposed you, even without that remarkable display of dominance. Your platform has powerful and obvious appeal. True, we have to cede some secrecy, but we gain power. Humans will have to cede power, gaining safety and whatever other benefits we can cook up.”

“Huh. Maybe, Bran, but we’re gaining safety too, and ceding powers. I know you’re you, and we’re all predators, but think symbiosis, hey, not a zero-sum power game?”

He laughed. “Maybe back. You have a point. But so do I.”

“Several, always. And speaking of which, Asil?”

“He volunteered, Mercy, much to my surprise but no longer my concern. He has been talking to his sons, so I suspect Spanish as well as family politics in play. I will permit him to say the Marrok is older, but no more.”

“Un huh. That I get. Can’t say I’m not surprised, though.” I was thinking hard. “Do you have any intended timing?”

Bran shrugged again. “Only by ear. Your Wednesday broadcast will spill the general beans, and bicentenarians will come out. Asil thought the right time would come as speculation built.”

“Could be. I was wondering about holding it in reserve, though.”

“Against?”

“Something going south. Collateral damage or disinformation that gains traction.” Thoughts spun. “Andrea and Mary think more humans than we allow already accept that wolves don’t age, and will blink less than we fear at a few bicentenarians. Wow, some do make it to that sort of age. Cool. Next? But a millenarian who met Charlemagne? That’s in a different league, and not a resource to squander. I hadn’t expected Asil to come out at all, but if he’s decided he will we need to think hard about maximising value. Can I talk to Jesse, Andrea, and Jenny about this?”

“Certainly. And I don’t disagree.” Bran frowned. “All the talking with Gray Lords has made it harder for me to think human of late, and Aspen Creek does not help with that.”

“Huh. Figures.” Aspen Creek’s problems were all old wolves. “Lean on Anna some more, maybe.”

“I already do, Mercy. Charles will not bless me for doing it harder.”

“For this it’s OK, Da. And you were thinking of Asil’s welfare, and Samuel’s and other elders’, before human reactions to an order of magnitude shift you passed centuries ago.” He cocked his head. “Asil has only been on this continent thirty-some years this time, but was here before, in the Spanish West, so you should add him to Warren and Coyote if that round table happens after he’s out.”

“Surely. I told Stefan about that one too, and he laughed.”

“So I saw, and for your sake hope it happens. Vampires, yet. But you have a point about forced Turning, and forced outing.”

“And _#DaywalkingByNight_.” Bran was back to smiling. “All those other hashtags, too. You continue to hone your politician’s talent for slogans.”

“Wash your mouth out with soap and water, Bran.”

But he was right, and as Alphas came by ones and twos to tell me they were onboard, and would do as asked down the line, wishing me luck against Bonarata and rivals alike, I let my backbrain absorb it. Alphas, schmalfas. Coyote was coming to town, and for once I didn’t mean my grinning father.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Sunday allowed a welcome return to routine, and even if I was intending to mobilise it some, the congregation was still a peaceful refuge. Adam had taken to coming with me more often, as time together and to spell Brent, and the presence of the Freed, with theological and pastoral thinking about the preternatural, made it more attractive to Jesse. She was up for it today, so Adam called Ramona, and when we made it through the media Hec and Maria were waiting to shield Jesse and scoot her inside. Among the shouted questions as Adam and I climbed out of the Cherokee wanting to know what I would be saying on Wednesday was prominent, and as there was a TV camera or two I stifled a sigh and we went across.

“You’ll find out what I’m saying Wednesday on Wednesday, and it’ll be worth the wait, I promise. Anyone have a question I _am_ likely to answer?”

There were grins, my more regular stalkers having learned that however mouthy when I did speak, I didn’t say things I didn’t mean to say, and one raised a hand.

“Word is out you’re going to be saying things Tuesday too, Ms Hauptman, to the state legislature. Anything you can say about that?”

“As it’s two state legislatures, it’s a no-brainer re-emergent land needs sorting. There’s been useful discussion in Olympia and Salem, but we need it done, so I’ve been talking with those concerned and have proposals, but our elected lawmakers get to hear those first.”

“You have Yakama authority?”

“I do. Elder Spirits’ too.” I took a breath. “And with regard to Celilo Falls, which for all First People is a Very Big Deal. Again, the elected get priority, but I will say loud and clear the Falls and surrounding area were sacred territory before they were submerged, and still are. That site was continuously inhabited for over 15,000 years, until 1944, and its Drowned Years are _over_.” That phrase would catch on, I’d bet. “You might all tell your editors they need to plan coverage — it’ll be a major event.”

“And why should Christian Americans honour false pagan beliefs?”

Since Jenny had taken them for a _lot_ of money on my behalf Fox had been wary of me but still sent stalkers, and the present one was more confrontational than the last. He was also irritating.

“And which false beliefs would those be, rude Fox-guy? You think Celilo Falls wasn’t the oldest inhabited site in this continent? Or there aren’t sacred spirits? God does not preclude Medicine Wolf, remember, nor Thunderbird, and the same applies. In any case, there being constitutional separation of religion and government, the US being a multiculture, and Amerindians having been here five hundred times longer than you’ve been alive, we could just file under courtesy, hey? Or there are the interesting and consequential politics of the Columbia Revival, which one might think the business of a station that claims to cover news. But what do I know?”

“A lot more than him.” The local guy gave me a grin as others laughed and Fox-guy scowled. “And I hear you, Ms Hauptman. Native Affairs Desk is gearing up, but I’ll prod them. Give us a wave from the church steps?”

Mary had taught me about the needs of picture desks, so though I didn’t like using the church as a prop Adam and I did as asked.

“Fox don’t learn, do they?”

“Nope. Slapping at Fox-guy amuses the others, though.”

“And you do good sound bites.”

I could hope. Inside we found Jesse talking kiddos with Freed, and I managed a quiet word with Reverend Jackson before she got underway. For once I didn’t feature in her sermon, but ongoing fallout from the interdenominational conference on Medicine Wolf did, reflecting hardening positions on being green and stewardly. She also had interesting thoughts about expecting angels as messengers to have human form, which Hebrew, Greek, and Christian tradition insisted on, and what value there might be in a divine warning having four legs and a tail. Animal forms were a strong feature of the preternatural, with fae and half-fae as well as wolves and avatars, and other faiths had no problem with sacred animals, so it behoved us, she thought, to wonder how many warnings God might pack into one. I was good with that, and given the way wolves were already using furry experiences to give themselves green authority it was timely. The Freed were interested in a view that might sacramentally validate their imposed forms, and lunches would see animated discussion.

When the liturgy was complete Reverend Jackson stayed put.

“There’s one more thing before I let you all head home, because Mercy Hauptman asked if she might address you, and I doubted you’d mind.”

Episcopalians don’t think laughter in church proper, but there was a murmur of amused agreement and interest as I rose.

“Thank you, Reverend, everyone. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be saying and doing some things in the coming week that will probably kick media interest back up from intrusive to insane. Jesse’s and my public security will increase sharply, and it’s all too possible, I’m afraid, that as fellow congregants you may find reporters after you for anything they can get. What you say, or don’t, is your business, of course, but if you hear reporters saying anything you _know_ to be untrue — errors of fact, or downright lies — please call them on it, loud and clear, there and then. If laws are being broken, call your PD pronto — they’ve promised to take press illegality and intrusion seriously. And if anyone has a real problem on my account, Adam’s set up a line at his security business. He and the Freed have cards to give you, for your use only, please, not passing on. I can’t stop the media being a pain, but we’ll ameliorate what we can, and apologies in advance for what we can’t.”

“So noted, Ms Hauptman, and I’ll offer collective thanks for being thoughtful and generous. Are Mr Christiansen and his men returning?”

“When they can, Reverend, though not this week.”

“Well, they are always welcome.” She smiled. “I know better than to pry, but I’ll confess I’m itching to know what you’re up to this time.”

“Amerindian affairs, Reverend, that’ll sit people hereabouts up. And something to follow I hope will ring a lot of bells. I can’t say more, but among those bells will be preterophobes and haters, hence the security. So do please take care with strangers, and be safe, not sorry.”

“Indeed. You’re in my prayers, you know. _You_ be safe, as well.”

“You bet, Reverend. Always.”

It was only that giving vamp dictators ultimata made it tricky, but I pushed those thoughts aside to chat with those who lingered. Ramona was talking up the road-safety segment of _Living Free and Moonbound_ , and Freed discussing how strange it was to own land, with how happy it made their wolves. A congregational barbecue out there seemed on the cards, and Benny’s in Richland would shortly be hiring delivery staff, if anyone knew folk who’d be interested. Another kin business was opening — a retro boutique that might be able to get a Mexican dress someone had been asking about. It was wonderfully normal, and I happily soaked it up until cooking deadlines meant I needed to head home.

I doubted my prayers had anything to do with it, but we’d just finished lunch when Frank called on Adam’s system to tell me, looking thrilled and terrified, that he accepted and would do his damnedest. His principal, asked confidentially, had been floored but agreed to grant leave with Frank’s job reserved, and the deputy coach of the debate team would step up for the duration.

“He’s been playing second fiddle for a decade, so my major worry is wresting it back when I need to.”

“You might not want to in four years, Frank. Former Veeps have more choices than career teachers.”

“There’s that. You really do think we can win, don’t you?”

“I’m beginning to. What the public have to say after Wednesday will tell us for sure, and if it’s a no we can shrug and step back. But I don’t think it will be, and that we’re going to have a lot of beings pitching in.”

I told him about nailing Alphas, with what they’d be doing, and we got to practicalities. He would need security and staff from Wednesday, and with Adam running the more complicated bits of his system we did some conferencing. David Christiansen and his guys could be here next week, and Adam’s regular security guys could take it on before the Secret Service picked it up, which they didn’t for all presidential candidates but would for us, as a call to its wary Director confirmed. At home he wouldn’t answer in more than monosyllables, but agreed taking point against vamps earned kudos, and would let me brief agents about integrating with preternatural co-workers — a formula that had Frank and Adam grinning. With that done I took a chance on Irpa, and found her being Ms Thorsden in Haight Ashbury, entertaining neighbours. She made time to say hello to Frank, and they exchanged numbers before I told her briefly about the Kentucky bicentenarian, Asil, and Alphas.

<Who’s been a busy coyote? I’ve been a busy troll too. What the Prince called a short-briefing fairy has left a draft of Troll 101 in your inbox, and I’ve persuaded Vanna, who helped build the George Washington and Verrazano Narrows bridges and lives in the city, to think about Manhattan or Staten Island. This is going to be so much fun. Oh, and I have a tale to tell, Mercy, because Dave Lemieux was in touch, but my sister just freaked out my neighbour’s idiot poodle again, so I gotta go peacekeep.>

We were left blinking as she rang off, and some clicking had Frank looked beatific on his preterophile high while we looked at what the short-briefing fairy had sent. It was solid stuff and amusing, but there didn’t seem to be any real cultural sensibilities I didn’t know besides a pointed statement that most trolls who were out Overhill were female, and should not be asked about male ones as they were a disappointment to everyone. There was a background datum about early training by Thor to defend and maintain important Valhallan bridges about which no detail was offered, save to say it explained their abiding concerns.

Frank looked up. “This is good, and another troll running will be better, but before I forget, who is Dave Lemieux?”

“Grateful Dead’s archivist. Who knows, but I was wondering about reaching out to them because I want to use ‘Truckin’’ as a rally song, and I bet Irpa will use ‘Scarlet Begonias’ if she can.”

He grinned. “She’s right about fun, Mercy, whatever the hassle. And I had a thought about songs too, because if the Boss wouldn’t be happy for Warren to use ‘Born in the USA’ I’ll be surprised.”

Adam cracked a laugh. “Now there’s an idea. Warren wasn’t in Vietnam, though.”

“Fought for his country all the same, Adam, and the 1776 thing will go ballistic. If he was standing for federal office he’d sweep up a whole bunch of votes.”

“Un huh. He will here too, Frank, and still be good with pack business.”

“Point. How does that work? We didn’t talk about your domestic needs, if and when.”

We did now, Adam doing most of it while I thought about the way our pack would cope, where most would have a really hard time. Some of the queries to Darryl yesterday made more sense along the way, but it still came down to the fact that we’d had to deal, and knew SOP had limits, whatever your traditionalism. Frank surprised Adam, though, by saying that if it happened the pack should pitch up in DC once in a while.

“A lot of talking Rachel and I have done involved effects of succeeding, Adam, and she insisted that included a First Gentleman Alpha. We’re still wondering how much feminist promotion of the First Lady just flips to First Gentlewolf, on principle.” Adam looked cross-eyed and I clamped down on a grin. “Rachel also pointed out that if you have to attend some Beltway bash with idiots getting in your face, being surrounded by forty wolves in both forms would give you more breathing space than anything else. Besides, don’t wolves want a chance to stroll beside you and snarl at idiot bigwigs?”

Adam’s croggled look became thoughtful. “I’m not sure, Frank. Maybe. Huh. I’ll ask. And you’re right about symbolism, but even with the cloak drilling through logistics, most of my wolves have jobs.”

“Sure, but _Boss, I have an invitation to the State of the Union. Can I take 48, please?_ will grease most wheels fast enough.”

Adam stared some more, and so did I.

“True. Did anyone say anything to you, Frank?”

“My smart-as-a-whip daughter, who already has social media plans that make my head hurt. Do you want to know?”

“Need-to-know basis, I think. Andrea’s wonderful, but …”

“Oh yeah. I’ve been scrambling to keep up for years. Just don’t blink too much when you see hashtags saying _#IWantToBeDroppedRightInIt_.”

That made us laugh, and we went on to more practicalities. Frank would talk to Coyote about Eastern rallies, and there were genuine advantages to whapping people, including First People, upside their assumptions, while my more-or-less father had an outstanding record in that department. There was also a campaign launch in the Tri-Cities, so soundtrack made a return, with more regional issues I was juggling.

“I really like the idea of the Pacific North-West leading, Mercy. The rep for decades has been quietly sane and greener than most, West Coast liberalism plus Western independence. But you and Medicine Wolf have ramped that skyhigh, and caught everyone’s attention over and over — Hanford, the whole dams thing, and the Accords, as well as Heuter and the Freed. _#TakingTheNextStep_ and _#SanityWorksEverywhere_ were among my notes after Andrea started cranking my head open.”

I gave a thumbs-up though my head was spinning. “I hear you, and yeah, Salem and Olympia will play ball on that even with independent candidates. Andrea’s on it, but I’ll make sure she talks to Mary Oliver, who’s doing local liaison. Anything else?”

There was this and that, but we’d covered the urgent stuff, so with renewed thanks we rang off, and I sent messages to any number of beings about the Hauptman–Lafferty ticket and matters arising. By the time I was done lunch was a distant memory, and dinner went to the top of the agenda, so I headed for the kitchen. I wanted a challenge to keep my brain from overheating about things I had to wait on, and I’d found a recipe online involving pork fillet, eggs, sage-and-onion stuffing, and something half-way between shallow and deep frying. Mashed potato and greens of choice were recommended accompaniments, so I set a surfing Jesse to peeling while I sliced fillets and opted for green beans, deciding to add a thick apple sauce as condiment.

It was pretty good, as everyone agreed except the earth fae, and they were high on red cabbage steamed with apple, so that was alright. Pudding was still going down when Jesse’s phone gave a coyote howl and segued into Ute Lemper singing ‘Mac the Knife’. Jesse stared.

“Gramps must have reprogrammed it. I just assigned the howl. Cool.” She investigated while Adam and I blinked. “And he’s come through on DropBox. Fire up the laptop, Dad, and don’t anyone go anywhere.”

Adam did as asked. The laptop lived on the side for when a phone screen didn’t cut it, but when Jesse came back in she had a projector and cables. Using the end of the table meant no-one had to move, and she set about hooking projector to laptop and downloading a fat PowerPoint file.

“What has Gramps come through with, Jesse?”

“Campaign posters.”

“Ah. Right.” Adam was on beer, my usual, but not having started yet I opened a bottle of red wine, and poured a glass. Adam eyed me but said nothing, and Jesse popped up the first slide.

So here we go, Graught,

and doubtless preparing-to-disapprove daughter.

Stop it – I do know what I’m doing.

First, the boring one for Anglos.

Jesse grinned, tapping a key, and I stared. The legend was a simple HAUPTMAN and LAFFERTY, central and vertical, and on either side were pictures. Where Coyote had got a photo of Frank debating I wasn’t going to ask, but it was a very good shot, his face showing passion and humour while looking wise. On the other side was a photoshopped image of furry me grinning at everyone beside two-legged me in the cloak, Carnwennan on my belt and carrying Manannán’s Bane, with Thunderbird’s feather rising above. It was from the Man’s visit to see damwork, and I’d been talking troll safety with Irpa ; I was also looking passionate and humorous, and if wise wasn’t my call, my stance — Irpa had been sitting, but it still means looking way up — came over as … well, fearlessly engaged with the large and magical might cover it. Boring it wasn’t, and Adam whistled.

“That’s … seriously good, actually, love.”

Pirandella was full of pixie grin and I didn’t need to ask what Jesse thought. Anyway, Adam was right. We _were_ arguing for change, not the same old same old, and I _was_ a coyote girl, as no voter should forget.

“Un huh. So what constitutes unboring, Jesse?”

“Let’s see.” She tapped.

There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?

These others are mostly for places First People will see them,

but the media will take them nationwide anyway

so putting up some in big Eastern cities would be good.

Times Square, say.

This is proving more fun than I’d thought.

Jesse tapped again, grinning quite indecently, and I got back to staring. The photos were the same, but if HAUPTMAN and LAFFERTY easily balanced, SHE DOESN’T ONLY FIX CARS, SHE DROPS PEOPLE RIGHT IN IT and LAFFERTY didn’t. The large space under LAFFERTY was filled with coyote-headed Coyote, tongue lolling and eyes alight, a speech balloon informing everyone that “We had to put something into all this space, and I was handy. Think about that.”

I took solace in wine, while Adam grinned.

“Spot on again. Not sure that’s for Times Square, mind. Roll on, Jesse.”

This time I was in full cloak and feather, talking to Medicine Wolf about something, with it looking thoughtful. There were no names, only a legend that said on one line IF YOU LIVE IN THE BASIN, THIS VOTE’S A NO-BRAINER, and below it, same size, OR IF YOU DON’T. I blinked, Jesse peered at the laptop, and a note flashed up assuring me Medicine Wolf was OK with it.

“Um …”

“It’s good, Mom. Call it as you see it, not the usual political bull and smear.” Jesse tapped again. “Versions in Spanish and … Salish? And Siksiká? Mmm. Ooh!”

After a horrified double-take I closed my eyes. Introducing Coyote to the full range of Adobe graphic apps had not been Jesse’s wisest move, but it was too late now, and I made myself look. The beach in the Columbia Gorge was familiar, even without the enormous dead-River-Devil shape that was blacked out, exactly, grotesque bulk, sprawling tentacles with suction-cups, gaping maw in profile, and all. A smaller black shape lay on churned-up sand to one side. I didn’t want to know where Coyote had got an image of me by the River Devil’s corpse, severely battered with eyes blazing golden defiance and a bloody Manannán’s Bane in one hand, but there I was, photoshopped broken obsidian knives arrayed round my head. And in both blacked-out areas there was white lettering — THE RIVER DEVIL WAS SO HORRIBLE THE FBI KEEP IT VERY CLASSIFIED EVEN NOW IT’S DEAD, AND IT WOULD GIVE YOU ALL NIGHTMARES ANYWAY, SO BE REALLY GRATEFUL MERCY KILLED IT, HEY?, and THIS BIT WAS ITS HEART. Across the bottom, in red, was a splash slogan, COYOTE GIRLS DON’T DO ATTACK _ADS_ , and in one corner a photo of Coyote and the Man had speech balloons : “You _pay_ to broadcast warnings to enemies? You Anglos are crazy.” ; “I know.” Jesse brought up a second note: “Haven’t asked the Man, but he’ll agree.”

Adam was grinning while managing to look thoughtful. “Me too. Not many people have the right to release that image, but no-one can argue Coyote doesn’t. And that’s for Times Square.”

“You think?”

“Un huh. You did kill that thing, love. War service counts. And the joke is very good.”

“Would it be legal without the ticket names or anything?”

He shrugged. “Far as I know. Airtime slots are tricky, but posters are just cash-limited, and what you say on them is up to you.”

“Outraging public decency or whatever?”

Jesse cut in. “You should hope for that, Mom, because Jenny, Andrea, and Kyle will mince it right up. Lots of free airtime. Pushing some provocation to the borderline is right, and what’s truly to object to? No visible monster, no blood or guts, and a true joke.”

“Well, that’s a thought. Huh.” I let it turn in my mind, and with the aid of more wine became mellower. I _had_ grown used to having public images, as well as a public image, just not to using them like this, and Coyote did know what he was doing. I’d asked him because the tricksiness of advertising was right up his street, and he was delivering, for him pretty straightly. The missing ticket names were right as well — just something dead left thankfully in my wake, and a threat at once shouted and subtle. My double-take would not be the only one, and working it out would lodge the thought deeper than any screamer, even with the prettiest image. “Maybe. I want Jenny’s advice, though. Are there more?”

“Yup.”

Jesse tapped on, and things were calmer for a while, slogans I’d uttered at one time or another, or someone had, with my Indian name and Frank’s underpinned by Elder Spirits in animal form — _She Called Thunderbird!_ , _I do not need enemies to know who I am_ , _How long before common sense steps up to the plate?_ , _Yes I know, but it’s_ good _Chaos_ , and _Coyote Services : Conflict Resolution with a Twist_. The last two made me blink, but were honest jokes, and as soon as I thought about it I could see how effective offbeat humour would be. The Indian language versions were a reminder I needed to keep up my work on Siksiká. It turned out a First Person did campaign differently, and quite right ; it was just that the gravity of the thing with vamps, and having to juggle weapons and betrayals, left me woefully short of my usual sense of mischief. Then the last image popped up, and I went back to my wine.

For once I didn’t have any magical props, because I was on four legs, gazing straight out, and besides the Anglo ticket names across the top the slogan read I AM FROM PLANET B, LUCKILY FOR US. Coyote hadn’t done anything so crass as colouring the US in stars and stripes, but that was there, with a bunch of other things. And it was more of the same, so I pulled out my phone. Jesse quirked an eyebrow, and I turned the screen so she could see.

Don’t let it go to your head, old coyote, but you’re a star.

Some legalities need checking, but you’re on.

Adam’ll try for Times Square, but no promises. Mx.

(SDOFC,SDPRII, EF&TFx takes too long to type.)

“True.” Jesse gave a pleased laugh. “You should practice signing it, though. It needs including in your oath of office.”

I thought about it, and refilled my glass to the brim.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Monday started with all sorts of things jumping into high gear. Jesse was doing her Wazzu visit with Warren, and as Adam pointed out several times, it was all very well worrying about getting Frank a staff when I needed my own, so various people had conspired to provide one.

Andrea was co-ordinating, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, half-a-dozen Freed acting as security and gofers, but there were people I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure how many First People were polisci grads at Wazzu, but four had been tapped and we had rainbow diversity, Anglo, African-American, Latinx, and a Japanese-American recommended by Brent. None knew about the real campaign, but they’d been briefed by Jim and others about land issues, including Celilo Falls, and were all happy to help make my presentation to the legislatures unanswerable.

The fact that I didn’t really do scripted stuff so much as make it up as I went along produced a silence, but I relented, conceding that I needed a lot more bullet-points than usual, and handed over the pitiful excuse for a PowerPoint I’d put together. Several iMacs were promptly fired up, Andrea produced flash drives with updated HD maps of the Columbia and various property borders, scanned from state archives, and amid much clicking and ubergeeky conversation the slideshow improved beyond recognition and was co-ordinated with my expanding list of bullet-points. Someone was talking animatedly to Olympia about AV facilities, with much clucking, and after liaising with Andrea called a computer store in Pasco, and departed with one of the Freed to buy a superprojector and the largest freestanding screen they had.

I might have left them to it, but as one First Person spoke Salish and two Siksiká I opted for immersion learning. Siksiká was hard, but when in my roots phase I’d picked up a fair bit of Salish from Charles, though what we were saying was studded with loanwords like ‘pixel density’ and ‘zoom’. Everyone was multi-tasking but First People and others wanted to ask about Celilo Falls, and whether I truly thought they could be grabbed back, so after a while we went there, mostly in English, though as I’d need to talk about this stuff with First People from well outside Yakama territory I kept learning words. I’d remembered to ask Medicine Wolf about County Highway 143, and brought an eerie quiet when I called to ask if it had had a chance to take a look.

_I have, Mercy, and it is no problem. I will open tunnels at both ends for the road to leave and rejoin the old route, and can widen the smaller road and create new foundations. The tarmac humans must do, as it is artificial. As for the railway, I can open another tunnel for it from the Deschutes confluence to where I84 will be diverted, and cannot see why trains should not continue downriver on the Oregon side to a new bridge at The Dalles._

“Excellent news, thank you. After tomorrow I hope I can give the go-ahead, and provide specs for tunnels. Oregon was on that, last I knew.”

_Anytime is good, Mercy. This project is interesting. Talking to Underhill about irrigation was a true pleasure._

“So she thought too. Any news on huorns for the Freed?”

_They will be here this week, as will those coming to you. Nuthatch and I will see to them. If you are there we might speak of vampires and your campaign. I was amused by your father’s posters._

“Me too, Medicine Wolf, after some staring. But I can’t do that now. Any idea what day this week?”

_Thursday._

“Then probably.”

I rang off, and found everyone staring while Freed grinned.

“Uh … huorns?”

We got that sorted, and Medicine Wolf answering the phone, but once I’d commandeered an iMac and pulled up Googlemaps, showing everyone how I wanted I84 rerouted, there was more geekiness, a call to someone’s friend who did IT for civil engineering, and arrival by taxi a while later of couriered discs. That I did leave them to get on with, but the results, amazingly by mid-afternoon and using the new superprojector, which had more bells and whistles than anyone could need, were improvised but first-rate graphics showing proposed route, tunnels, and adjustments in detail, with a ballpark figure for tarmac plus lane-markings, lights, and signage. It was a lot by most standards but by road-building ones a star bargain steal. The railroad was more theoretical, but the line of the tunnel Medicine Wolf had specified was indicated, with a site for a new bridge.

A section of slides on the history of Celilo Falls was also very pleasing, if a reminder of desecration, and there were sonargrams showing topography that would re-emerge. I was dealing with real estate and financial issues first, so claim-maps and legal citations were up front, but when I did get to Celilo Falls I’d be able to hit every legislator in heart and mind, while pleasantly surprising pockets. I hoped it would be enough, and if I didn’t plan on mentioning huorns yet, I had every intention of telling them Elder Spirits and animals would resume residence in force. I had in reserve FBI agreement that tourists being eaten was best avoided, and the Man’s promise state legislation would be backed federally.

The volunteers — though I was paying a proper stipend, I was happy to discover — were interesting and heartening. A couple were preterophile in Andrea’s excessive fashion, but while others were sensibly wary if intrigued, all were driven by political fascination with what they thought I was managing to do with potentially very fraught issues. I tended to think it had been amazingly simple, as Medicine Wolf and endorsement by Elder Spirits made it hard for any First Person to argue much when basic rights and wants were thoroughly respected, but they all waved hands.

“That’s true, Mercy, but it’s you.” Sally Wishart was Quileute and earnest to a fault. “Authority must be used well, and reversion to the _status quo ante_ with partial repayment of compensation kicked everyone’s legs from under, but it was how you said it. Argument died as we listened.”

Brent had drifted in. “Telling that guy at Dallesport who objected to the noise of rapids that any Elder Spirit would be happy to deafen him didn’t hurt.”

Sally dimpled. “Nor renaming him Yapping Dog. It stuck.”

I shrugged. “His problem. It was a very silly complaint.”

“And when has that ever stopped anyone? Except you did. It has been as you were on TV during those days, Mercy. You tell us something, usually clearly impossible, requiring us to think, and when we do you are obviously right, again, and meantime saying something else equally impossible.”

“File under Medicine Wolf, who doesn’t quite make impossible meaningless but shrinks it right down.” I was uncomfortable with shining eyes. “And humour’s like Omega werewolf zen, sorta — it moves tensions sideways, eases things along. I also think you’re all underestimating self-interest. A bunch of First People are getting back land they never thought they’d see again, and Celilo Falls, and besides wanting all that themselves, badly, they know everyone else does, so making yourself an object of public wrath from Pocatello to Kinbasket Lake is contra-indicated. With that many carrots I’ve only needed the odd stick.”

That set them off in more directions than I could count, and I fielded questions about Anna, sheets of glass, and, so far as I could tell, every joke or flip one-liner I’d ever uttered. Some of the way they analysed made sense enough, and I knew the racial politics I’d roused against K-K-Kantrip were flourishing, but hearing it from five ethnicities at once was satisfying. Bran had reports on assorted Path of Assertion co-operation with minorities, pushing on particular local and regional problems, but now I heard of specific things that mattered personally. The pure speed with which massed people power plus united preternatural demand had delivered change had been a galvanising shock in dozens of communities, and even conservative elders had found themselves obliged to reach out in new ways. Nailing Heuter had helped, because, hey, not many sitting federal billionaire senators get done for anything, never mind several hundred counts of capital murder. But behind that there was a deeper shift in feeling about the preternatural, that was down to me touching Medicine Wolf. Several of them thought resolution of the human-Fae standoff, with a profound underlying acknowledgement that ap Lugh justly beheaded Les Heuter, had tipped a shift that had been growing since the Fae came out, wavered with the shock of wolves, wavered again with Boston in pure fright, but swung back hard when I gave it a chance. Frank had said similar things, and I wondered what outing vamps would do.

Some volunteers had packed lunches, but I did soup, bread, and cold cuts before a welcome distraction arrived in the shape of Zee, bearing wooden daggers. That was not volunteer business and I shooed them along, looking over their shoulders, before feeding him too. He had things on his mind that took half the afternoon, so I decided Benny’s could pick up the larger than expected dinner needed. As I hung up Andrea came in.

“Are you good with the volunteers, Mercy?”

“Un huh. They seem a nice bunch, and the language coaching is a bonus.”

“You’ve taught me as much about birds and stones as Jenny. Thing is, I’d like to brief them tomorrow about Wednesday. Giving some lead time will make a big difference.”

I shrugged. “Go ahead, but please ask for oaths of secrecy, until. I know we’re very close, and a leak now probably wouldn’t matter, but I don’t want distractions from tomorrow’s main business.”

“I’ll be fierce.” She grinned. “This is going to be a lot easier when we can hire openly.”

“I bet, and I’m sorry about the cloak-and-dagger. It’s the vamp thing of course. And I realised looking at those posters it’s dampened my mischief too much, so I’m sorry for that too. I’m aiming to improve.”

“Not a problem, Mercy. I’m so glad it went well with your vampire friend. And I have a new understanding of what Darryl says about your Mohs rating.” I frowned, and she waved a hand. “But those posters are something else, and your Dad’s right about TV taking them nationwide. Jesse’s thinking about what order to use them in. It’s so much fun.”

“You could say. I gather we have hashtags as well.” She laughed agreement. “I wanted to ask about wanting to be dropped in it. My paternal gift of a name is _long_ , and however it’s out there I’m still trying to digest Jesse’s thought I should use it swearing the oath. Amerindian nomenclature is really not designed for signing bills, nor yet credit cards.”

“Same problem as early Puritans.” She gave me a look. “Well, could you fit _Bind their Servants with Chains and their Masters with Links of Iron Hauptman_ onto that small a bit of plastic?”

Slightly cross-eyed, I shook my head. “Perish the thought. I was just unsure how that hashtag will play with Anglos and other ethnicities.”

“Well to very well. Everyone likes your names, Mercy. Once Irpa’s out and running, we’ll do Elf-friend and Troll-friend stuff.” She held up a finger. “If we don’t, others will. You are, and it’s one part of what matters, one testimony. Or two.”

“Un huh.” I hunched. “Don’t mind me, Andrea. I’m just having a fit of self-conscious nerves. Doing’s much easier than waiting to do.”

“Sometimes. But it’s also your Groucho Marx credential — the thing about not wanting to join any club that would have him. Tomorrow doesn’t worry you because you really want it, and you have it down cold, but Wednesday does because you really don’t, and think you don’t.”

“Pretty much, except I’m right to think I don’t. But no-one ever has that big a thing down cold, or even tepid. And I know the coyote dance, which mostly works, except when it doesn’t. Oh well.”

“Look at the posters some more. Action will pick up soon enough.”

That was too true, and the returns of Adam and Jesse cheered me. The Wazzu visit had gone well, and there were daggers to distribute, but both wanted to see the slideshow and liked the superprojector’s bells and whistles. The volunteers became charily sober in Adam’s presence, but he was calm and Jesse grabbed them with ways to make social media go thoroughly Amerindian tomorrow. That it would all shift the day after was never hinted at, and I found myself impressed by how slickly she was managing it, telling Adam so with an image and receiving strong agreement. The idea she might have earned the tat she wanted earned me a much dustier look, making me grin, and the arrival of a host of miracle pies kept everything rolling nicely until Coyote strolled in, drawn (he said) by good smells but wearing a tee with the legend ‘PR Guru Extraordinaire’. I don’t think he’d expected to be unable to boast of his brilliance, but volunteer delight at another preternatural VIP and his interest in tomorrow saw us to a mass departure on the Freed’s coach, Ramona at the wheel.

Adam quirked an eyebrow. “You have an Alpha chauffeuring?”

Andrea smiled. “She offered, Adam, and I don’t argue with Alphas.”

“Right.” Adam was only teasing. “She’s happy her pack have something else to do. They’re all so young they have way too much energy.”

“And very useful it is. There are going to be hardware bills, though. The Olympia capitol has screens for vote tallies but nothing like what Mercy will need. That’s why the superprojector, and two screens.”

“Expenses fund is for expenses. Where did the engineering software come from, though? That was professional VR.”

“I didn’t ask. Someone’s brother is a fan of the Accords.”

“Synergy, then. Fair enough. The effects of Medicine Wolf on roadbuilding costs will generate pointed enquiries, mind.”

“Oh yeah. We talked about that when I asked about I84. It’s not unwilling when there’s a purpose it approves, and appreciates a smaller carbon footprint for major construction.”

“As dam removal gets on to the Flathead and Snake there’ll be plenty of possibilities.”

“I know. Then again, if we don’t offer my graphics guru papa some warmest thanks pretty soon, I think he might implode.”

“Your text was enough, daddy’s dearest.” He grinned at me, eyes warm. “And I get you are juggling a lot of balls, and need to keep tomorrow and Wednesday straight.”

“That she does, Chief Coyote.” Andrea gave the triple bow of awesomeness, and he did a perfect ‘Aw shucks’, making her grin. “But Guru is right. Can we talk hashtags?”

Jesse was keen, but we left them to it, withdrawing to make a private call to my family. I wasn’t dreading it the way I had talking to Stefan, but I’d been reluctant for any number of reasons ; then again, I knew if Mom found out I was running for president from TV I’d never live it down, she’d make the vamp connection anyway, and, more importantly, she, Curt, and my sisters needed guards on which they’d be no keener than me. Nan and Todd had moved to their own place, for everyone’s peace of mind, so Adam placed simultaneous calls. We’d barely done hellos before Mom realised we were encrypted, and when I asked her to call in Curt and Ruthie, I got an entirely maternal look.

“What are you up to now, Mercedes?”

“Nothing bad, Mom, but it’s about to spill so you all need to know. And I’m afraid you’re going to need guard details again.”

“Huh. Damn media flacks.”

“Them too, Mom, but it’s more than that. Call the others, please — I really don’t want to have to do this more than once.”

I was heartily bored of laying it out, but repetitions had honed me so I had it down pat, and without letting anyone interrupt I gave them the bare bones and a bit more, from putatively running as of Wednesday to vamp wars with a full human–preternatural alliance anytime after Friday.

“I know it’s a pain, but better safe than sorry, and you all know enough to know many vamps are neither wise nor sane. Angus has lent us wolves from the Seattle Pack who’ll bodyguard you all outside, and they’ll have wooden daggers as well as wolf strength and resistance, but the house is your true refuge. Don’t invite _anyone_ you don’t know over the threshold, even by daylight. The ultimatum will have a six-week deadline, so we should be done and dusted in eight to ten weeks max, certainly by Midsummer, but it could wrap up anytime after Friday. Depends on what vamps do. I hope I’ll have your votes despite the bother.”

Mom always did read me too well, and the maternal look became severe.

“Mercedes Athena, you are using yourself as bait, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” I shrugged. “But it’s just more coyote in the middle, Mom. Bigger stage, bigger problem. And I have serious defences in place.”

“As do I, Margi. I was about as enthusiastic about all this as you’d think, but there are compelling reasons. And I believe you could have some serious fun as our first female president’s mother.”

Mom blinked, and I sent Adam a kiss while deciding I’d deal with maternal presidential guilting if and when.

“That is _not_ the point, Adam.”

“It’s one of them, Margi, and everyone in this anti-vamp alliance was pushing Mercy to run. It ought to be an impossible long shot, but that is not what the numbers say.”

“Now that’s true, dear.” Curt laid a hand on Mom’s arm. “You know my patients ask about Mercy all the time.”

I gratefully left him to cajole her, half-tracking their conversation, and met my sisters’ gazes. Ruthie was poleaxed, and so was Todd, whom I still didn’t know as well as I should, but beside him Nan just nodded.

“You feel you have to do it, don’t you? Did Jesse push you?”

“Oh yeah. And as she invented that damn hashtag you could say it’s all on her. But it’s all the kiddos and ex-kiddos, and maximal co-operation to get effectively green fast. I told everyone it was insanity, and they all disagreed.” I shrugged again. “The Columbia Restoration stuff has been pulling me into what I can only call politics anyway, Nan, and the Cascadia evacuation. This seems to be the necessary next step, much as I hate it.”

“Really? It’s woken you up again, Mercy — you’re humming.”

“You have that right.” Ruthie shook her head. “In any honest yearbook you’d have been girl least likely, and look at you now. But full-time bodyguards on all of us? I can’t wrap my head around this scale, even after last year.”

I managed not to shrug, but did spread my hands. “Tell me, Ruthie, but once I grabbed media attention it stayed grabbed. My disreputable dad says I know what to do with a lot of spotlight.”

“Of course he does.” Mention of my dad snagged Mom’s ear, and her hand shot up to her mouth. “Oh. My. God. President Coyote.”

Her expression made me laugh. “If it happens, Mom. He’s designing campaign posters, and wondering how to enliven a First Person’s electoral style, so brace yourselves. And Jesse’s doing hashtags, with Andrea, so watch for what’s trending.”

“It isn’t funny, Mercedes. The risk is appalling.”

I met her look. “It isn’t only funny, Mom, but it is a joke of sorts. A coyote joke, to be sure, but when they work they’re the best kind. And it only hurts when I laugh.” I did allow myself one more shrug. “File under wise insanity, please, and pray. It works for me.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

It’s four hours from Kennewick to Olympia by road, so the volunteers set off before dawn, Ramona again chauffeuring, with the Freed tagging along — not only being useful, she told me, but amused to return visits by the governor and several state senators. And as KEPR told everyone First People were heading to Olympia as well, feeding a large but well-behaved crowd outside the capitol. Many were in leathers and feathers, making for a colourful show, and I’d been right about Sunday’s soundbite because there were banners saying THE DROWNED YEARS ARE OVER, others adding SACRED SPACE IS SACRED. There was also a LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE SALMON, for which I’d bet Coyote was responsible, and some were just images, Medicine Wolf and Elder Spirits, needing no words.

Andrea had appointed herself executive PA for the day, co-ordinating with governors, and the Oregon legislature got green points by making their journey up I-5 in three hydrogen-cell coaches with strong words about carbon footprints. Mary had lined up a radio interview, and though I had to hold back detail I could fix in people’s minds what was happening today, and why, beating the Celilo Falls drum and insisting on the intense sacramental concerns of the crowd in Olympia. It was a long while since there’d been a major rally by First People, so media interest was building fast, helped by other interviews — a serene Jim Alvin and earnest Dan Strongbear among them. Jim was asked if Elder Spirits would be showing up, and shrugged, saying they did as they would, and there was no need as I held their delegated authority. I looked at my ever-grinning father.

“Is that right?”

“Pretty much. I’ll work that crowd some — they deserve a treat after travelling so far — but we’re all busy, thanks to you, and you don’t need me to deal with those politicians.”

“Un huh. Work the crowd how?”

“Who knows? Will you get a vote today?”

I waggled a hand. “Politicians do love to yack on, but the joint session will be quorate and has given itself the power to decide.”

There was little precedent for state legislatures holding joint sessions, but with the river marking the interstate boundary under discussion it made sense to everyone, and the Man’s strongly expressed approval had eased it along. Adam tended to think twice as many politicians made for four times as many delays, and while that was usually true I thought we’d done enough softening-up that they could be goosed.

“Mmm. Force it if you have to, democratic daughter. Delays will have the crowd feeling sullen, while a win will set them dancing.”

Andrea agreed. “I’ve spoken to members of all four houses, and they know making a decision is urgent, Mercy, so I think you’ll be able to push them. You’re very good at making what you want work as solutions.”

I gave her a look. “Right.” And Coyote another. “Just _don’t_ get anyone arrested, please, great guru. Unless it’s Yapping Dog, I suppose.”

Coyote laughed. “That was a good one. I doubt _he’ll_ show his face again. And I’m off — I want a word with Owl, who’s playing hard to get. Later.”

I idly wondered why Owl might be doing that, but he was inscrutable at the best of times, and the avatars of his I’d met much the same, so I let Andrea run me though my speech again. She knew I was in general better served by winging it, but with legislators being asked to make decisions having details in the right order mattered, and we made a few adjustments that didn’t mess up the PowerPoint sequence but did clarify logic. I didn’t have the butterflies I’d expected, probably because after the audiences I’d been dealing with of late an assembly of lawmakers was not so frightening, and I really had grown used to being on screens nationwide. Even so some of the arrangements Andrea had made brought me up short : a KEPR team would be waiting on my appearance by archway, and I’d be passing through the crowd on my way in, with a police escort.

“It underlines the perception of your authority, Mercy. Your interviews are about influence. At the dam sites you had authority in the set-up, but that was private, and the public stuff mostly show, because engineering safety dictated what happened. This is different, because you really do hold authority today, human and preternatural, and you’re speaking to others holding human authority as an equal. So you need to suck up the VIP treatment, because it’s a lot of what defines VIPs.”

“I get that, Andrea. I just don’t like it.” I let my mind settle, working out what was bothering me. “The security issues are going to make ordinary public contact very awkward after Friday, so while I hear you I need to keep being the coyote-girl next door.”

Andrea made a note. “Another excellent slogan, Mercy.” She grinned. “ _Vote for the Girl Next Door_ , with _Coyote_ stuck in above a caret.” I flapped a hand. “Just do what you do with a police escort as well as Brent.”

“And wolves in both forms — Warren and Mary Jo on two legs, Auriele and George on four. Adam’s getting antsy.”

“Better and better. Closely attendant four-legged wolves are very photogenic.” That was unarguable, though not everyone liked what they stared at. “When are they due?”

“Eleven-thirty. George is on early shift, and by cloak it’ll only take a minute.” I checked my watch. “I’ll go change.”

The cloak had coped with the difficulty wolves on four legs had in holding fast by developing stalks with bulbous ends, that appeared at need and could rest comfortably in a lupine mouth. All of the pack had by now made journeys by cloak, but none much liked it, so I hadn’t intended to stop but when we entered the Garden of Manannán’s Death Skuffles was there. I saw what she was gazing up at and came to a dead halt, feeling a blush rise. Warren, Mary Jo, Brent, and Andrea saw it too.

“Slight delay, Auriele, George, and something you should have a look at.” Warren’s voice was a murmur. “Mercy’s fame just spread some more.”

You could say, but as I felt wolves let go of the cloak and pad forward I was still staring, Manannán’s Bane hot in my hand, as Carnwennan’s bone hilt to my touch. Underhill had been serious about an ice sculpture — a very large ice sculpture, that breathed invigorating coolth into the heat of the Garden, and the ice held realistic colours I didn’t think were glamour, though how it worked I hadn’t a clue. Much less pleasingly, what it showed was me holding Manannán mac Lír by magic, iron, and silver — a glittering pack-bond biting deeply into the flesh around his mouth, looping to me on one side and trailing off in air on the other, his Bane piercing his neck and Carnwennan his breast, above my wide mouth calling on justice. It was a reply to my name for the fountain, I realised, disparate heights echoing the upward slope of water. And we were both as naked as we truly had been, though he’d been left bare while I’d been granted an intimate twine of fig-leaves that did nothing to obscure my butt or breasts. My coyote-paw tattoo was present and correct, with assorted scars, while the frontal fig-leaves were little better than a G-string. Manannán’s green eyes and seaweedy hair were exact, as beautiful in ice as they should have been when he lived, even as he towered above me and was violently denied. Shouting “Gah!” Underhill seemed unwise, and Skuffles nudged my side.

_I’m only sorry I didn’t see the event. Try some photos, will you?_

“Not a chance, Skuffles, and no photography by anyone else either. There’s enough photoshopped porn already and that is … under-figleafed.”

“Un huh.” Warren nodded soberly. “Hear you, Mercy, but you need to bring Adam and Jesse to see it.”

“I do?”

“You bet. I heard you tell Bran what you did that day, and tried to imagine it …” His eyes were full of emotions I couldn’t name. “This matters, Mercy. Angus is spot on about your hanging tough.”

“It says you were cool as well as brave, Mercy.” Andrea had a blinding smile. “Underhill truly does honour you, twice over now, and she’s right to do so.” There was a chime, and Andrea bobbed a curtsey. “Mercy’s still absorbing it, Underhill, but I am so glad of your art. Honour where honour is due. And Mercy, think about it, because you’ve already busted the nudity taboo — those images are out there, everyone knows it, and no-one gives a damn except to curse Cantrip and MacLandis. I wouldn’t suggest you make any image of this widely available, but I think the Fae’s DC embassy should let real scholars see it somehow — not necessarily a visit, but, I don’t know what’s possible, a glamoured copy maybe?” She gestured to the fountain. “That rebuke to the dead could not exist if you and Manannán’s Bane and Carnwennan had not done what you did. The statue praises them as well as you.”

That was true, but I still had very mixed feelings. Being a shapeshifter involves a lot of nudity, communal as often as not, and with my Anglo half that had pretty much knocked out Amerindian modesty, but Adam’s possessive side extended to whose gaze could linger on what, and the hostile distribution of the video of Tim raping me still stirred very primitive emotions. Yet it wasn’t until after Manannán’s power had been stripped from him and I’d relaxed a little that my snatched-from-the-shower nudity had begun to bother me, and even then it had been diluted by acute awareness that however male ap Lugh and other Gray Lords might be, they were no kind of human and had gazed at me with a remote power far removed from ogling. Human eyes, though … and that thought twined unhappily with another, that while I’d never had the looks or figure to attract casual male desire, power was for most an aphrodisiac. Lots of models and actresses were not, to my eye, spectacularly beautiful or self-evidently desirable, but being on catwalk or screen — or national stage — bestowed enthralling glamour, with a matching desire to strip with eyes that fuelled vile photoshopping. Ask Emma Watson, poor woman. I put dominance into my voice, feeling wolves hear it.

“Maybe so, Andrea, but none of you will speak of this statue to anyone without my express permission. I’ll talk to Adam and Jesse, Warren, and recognise that all Fae will know, with anyone I take anywhere by cloak. But I have issues here I need to sort on my own, and with Adam, before either of us have to deal with anyone else.” I took a deep breath, turning slightly. “Underhill, I acknowledge the honour you do me, yet ask without incurring obligation that fae know it should not be revealed to any human without my let. If this puzzles you, please consider that one name for this statue would be _Naked Mercy Killing_.”

There was another chime, which reassured me, though a number of conversations were going to be necessary, and despite sidelong looks from Andrea and wolves in both forms I got everyone back to holding the cloak and gave the GPS co-ords Andrea had worked out. Skuffles lay down again, staring at the statue, and I suppressed a harrumph, more or less, because if we hadn’t been on a schedule I might have stayed and stared as well. I don’t go in for vanity, much, but no-one had ever sculpted me before.

My watch kept accurate Overhill time, somehow, so I knew we were on cue, but the blast of noise as we emerged from the arch had me quite forgetting giant nude ice me. Jim had wrangled himself and Calvin inside the police perimeter, and had a tannoy while a KEPR team had a camera and boom mike in my face.

“Ms Hauptman, Trish Flanagan, KEPR. This is quite the reception you’re getting.”

I summoned a smile. “Isn’t it, Ms Flanagan? Celilo Falls matter a great deal to everyone here.” As my words thundered from the tannoy, silence fell. “Jim, Calvin, good to see you. Jim, I think you know everyone, but Calvin, meet Warren, Mary Jo, and Brent, while my four-footers are Auriele and George.”

We did greetings, mikes avidly sucking it up, and my worries slid away. This dance I knew, and swung my attention out, conscious it was my dangerous Da and Thunderbird’s feather that commanded this crowd.

“Thank you, everyone, for your confidence. We’ve beaten expectations in reaching an agreed settlement among First People and preternaturals, and now we need to persuade the legislatures that what we’ve fixed on is workable, equitable, and right for all. As it is all those things, and our legislators are sensible North-Westerners, that shouldn’t be too hard, but please remember that if it happens as we hope, a _lot_ of people will be due thanks, and however you cut it only one of them is me.”

Jim gave an austere smile. “True, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, but some have led and some followed. As the senior medicine man of the Yakama Nation present, I confirm that we endorse all this avatar of Coyote, known to Anglos as Mercy Hauptman, says. So do Elder Spirits, as Thunderbird’s crowning feather attests. As I who see them can swear, spirits dance for you this day. Go now with our blessing to reclaim the Sacred Space stolen from us amid the exigencies of war.”

Jim’s gesture reminded me of Charles, a spirit thing beyond my magics, and there was no answering that speech anyway, so I nodded to him deeply and set off towards the capitol, camera and mike retreating before me with Ms Flanagan. Auriele and George flanked me, heads swinging, but the crowd was all goodwill, and now quieter than Anglos would have been. The police line was more decorative than necessary, and when I passed an Amerindian sergeant I paused to offer thanks to the Olympia PD in Salish, adding that I hoped they’d go easy on any public dancing. I got a promise with a grin, and a sincere statement of hope, also in Salish, that had the crowd murmuring agreement. Going on I offered the mike a translation, to underscore the specific importance of the Falls as well as the general issue of re-emergent land, and at the top of the steps turned and gave the crowd a bow, acknowledging it was for them I would be speaking.

Jenny had told me about arguments regarding security, which had involved pointing out the Secret Service let me wear Carnwennan in the Man’s presence and wolves could not check teeth at the door. However she’d done it there were no problems, and both governors were waiting to greet me. They eyed Auriele and George when I introduced them, but said nothing out of place, and Washington apologised for not having an up-to-date AV system. I thought it was interesting most state as well as the federal legislative chambers still lacked the obvious way of illustrating arguments, and genuine discussion took us through a maze of corridors to the crowded chamber. The screens had been set up behind the Speaker’s daïs, and a title-slide announced the extraordinary joint session to consider riparian land issues. Andrea stopped off with volunteers running the superprojector, while I collected the remote and hardcopy of my bullet-points before following governors to the daïs. Other volunteers and the Freed were in the packed gallery, with Penny and her team, and I gave them a smile as I took the chair to which I was directed, facing massed representatives and senators. My wolves arrayed themselves around me.

However extraordinarily, all four houses were in session, with all Speakers present. Oregon was the older state and had graciously done the travelling so their senate speaker was in charge and gavelled everyone to order, running through legalities recognising unusual circumstances with provisions for lawfulness of the assembly, and formally welcoming me and the governors. Technically the legislatures had invited me to address them, but the speakers remitted introducing me, so Washington and Oregon did that, and despite some embarrassment I made myself note what they picked out or let pass, feeling more pleased than not about the balance of First People and preternatural that came through. Then I was on, wolves shifting as I went to the speaking spot, setting Manannán’s Bane down and asking the cloak to fold itself back.

Courtesy matters, so I started with thanks for the invitation, nodding to governors and speakers, and adding my formal authorities granted by the Yakama Nation and Elder Spirits, before setting things out to be seen as I wanted. The Columbia Restoration needed no rehashing for this audience, but the succession of maps and charts had them intent, and despite everything they hadn’t realised it was not only First People and a few Anglos reclaiming re-emergent land, but Elder Spirits. I spent a few minutes stressing how potentially insane the whole issue could become, the miserly federal compensation having gone directly to some individuals and families, but also to tribal councils for apportioning, with a fun detour into the boggling complexity of inheritance among different tribes, before assuring them agreement in principle had been reached, and laying out the basic deal of reversion to the _status quo ante_ , inheritance flowing as it would had the land never been drowned. Maps showed new topography — Medicine Wolf was quite taken with computer graphics and had been very helpful in providing data about bits still underwater — while full lists of owners, whether state or federal governments (Hanford Reach would expand a little), individuals, or tribal authorities, with specified boundaries and township numbers, had already gone digitally to governors, and were available in hard copy from Andrea if anyone needed to check a particular claim. I could see general acceptance, and moved to step two.

“I hope you all accept this as a just and equitable solution, and as getting so many tribes and kinds to agree so many details was not simple I took it as my job to find answers to the two major problems it generates, which concern finance and Celilo Falls.”

The finance was another clearly fair deal, but the legislators hadn’t expected me to have spoken with state treasurers of all Basin states, Canadians via the Man, and (ditto) senior people at the Fed, nor to lay out a fully drafted law about long-term, low interest loans with federal backing. Adam said Cantrip had given me a habit of doing incompetent officials’ job for them, but if you want to push lawmakers into a particular and complex act, giving them detailed plans is necessary, and I did. The repayment-of-compensation issue had caused moaning and groaning, but the land had been drowned for seven decades, so 50% was OK. Loans were no skin off anyone’s nose, the work was done, so why not? And on to strike three. I brought up a slide showing the boundaries of the Sacred Space.

“The second problem, with Celilo Falls, is because this area, including re-emergent land immediately adjoining the Falls and land in Wishram and Celilo Village, with Carlisle Spring, extending to Oregon’s SR143, is claimed by Elder Spirits. All human owners are First People, who recognise the claim, the only other owners are state or federal government by default, and Elder Spirits will proceed in any case. They dwelt there with First People for more than 15,000 years and _will_ be moving back in. Medicine Wolf will irrigate a microclimate, so vegetation will become significantly denser, and most Elder Spirits intend to have children living there — wolves, grizzlies, coyotes, cougars, bobcats, elk, and rattlers, as well as animals that don’t usually kill people. So the problem is this stretch of I84 and the railroad, because they run through Sacred Space and stopping to gawp at animals is going to be a good way of getting eaten.

“I realise this may come as a shock, but Medicine Wolf and Elder Spirits are of another order than humans or werewolves, and now all are out, and deeply involved in the Columbia Restoration, they have decided to take Celilo Falls back. They do so not only for themselves, and for First People, but for all preternatural communities of both states and the wider Basin, inviting avatars, wolves, fae, and manitou to regard their Sacred Space as a place to meet in strictly observed peace. No human, nor the Marrok, nor Gray Lords, can command otherwise, even if any wished to, and while there are limits to what I may say, both the Marrok and Prince Gwyn ap Lugh have gladly accepted the invitation. So I took all that as given, seeking ways to make it easier for all and defend human interests.”

That was on the sneaky side, but everyone prefers being done favours to paying bills. First People would pay for fencing, Wolves and Fae would undertake it and reforestation at cost, Elder Spirits would ensure four-legged children and rattlers stayed within, particular care would be taken in and around Wishram, as with stray children, and Medicine Wolf had generously agreed to help re-route road and railway. The engineering slides shifted shocked silence to interested surprise, and the costing produced exclamations of disbelief I countered by explaining what Medicine Wolf was willing to do, and how fast, before dangling its putative willingness to help with other construction that could do with a lower carbon footprint as well as a smaller budget. The seemingly absurd demand was aligned with the whole co-operative effort already seen to work very efficiently with dam removal ; the only cost would be tarmac, signage, and lighting, and though on paper Oregon’s responsibility, plenty of Washingtonians preferred I84 to the Lewis and Clark Highway on the north bank, which ran away from the river to bypass Wishram, so I hoped Washington would be willing honourably to share it ; and the whole was another level of human–preternatural co-operation benefitting all.

And not only did I do the whole thing completely straight, without a hint of the laughter I felt at pulling the switch-around, and its honesty despite everything, I had the cloak on. I wouldn’t do anything magically underhand to any legislature, but I was trying hard to be persuasive, to make full agreement not simply logical and possible but the virtuous path of least resistance, and there was some subtle magical boosting going on — siren nudges, maybe, with Thunderbird’s feather adding in. George’s and Aurielle’s unblinking watchfulness on either side didn’t hurt either. Of course states couldn’t just move roads and railways whenever someone demanded it, but there was only one Celilo Falls so it wasn’t a precedent. And wasn’t being gracious, even generous, better than annoying everyone already signed up? Which included the Man, who promised new federal legislation to back their decision with regard to any federal claim.

As a finale I laid before them a full draft of what I was asking them to adopt and pass, in three parts enshrining reversion to the _status quo ante_ allowing Anglo and recognised tribal means of inheriting ownership, the loan-scheme, and recognition of the Celilo Falls Sacred Space, relinquishing all state claims and specifying it be administered in perpetuity by the Yakama Nation on behalf of Elder Spirits.

“So there it is, ladies and gentlemen — a single bill that is just and equitable, offering all Basin states a clear and righteous model I believe they will be happy to follow, and that all First People, very many your constituents, strongly endorse, as do Medicine Wolf, Elder Spirits with avatars, and the Marrok. In so far as it concerns them, the Gray Lords strongly welcome and approve these proposals.” I decided wryness was alright. “You get two free tunnels, a deal of other free engineering, and a staggering amount of very positive publicity, while the total cost is a few miles of four-lane tarmac with signs and lights, and the same of railtrack, plus new footings for a bridge, so I hope the decision isn’t so hard.”

There was relieving laughter, which was fine, but I had one more punch to deliver and let passion into my voice, the cloak gusting roses.

“And one thing more. The Medicine Wolf Accords were not only new — they renewed agreement between the US and the Fae, re-affirming honour and mutual respect in our dealings, to the great benefit of all. And this too, by your joint and collective grace, can be a renewal, sorely needed, of the 1855 treaty that was expediently and shamefully broken. The dam that drowned Celilo Falls was needed to power Hanford, now cleansed of its pollution as the Falls will be restored to the sky and spirits. Both Elder Spirits and First People reassert themselves, so we of these two states, joined not divided by the Columbia, can renew the understanding between First Peoples, who have dwelt here for far longer than there has been a United States, and all who now dwell here, human and preternatural. As a representative of First People, I ask you pass this bill today. But as a voter and citizen, an avatar of Coyote speaking for Elder Spirits and Medicine Wolf, Elf-friend and Troll-friend, I demand it of your honour, as of my own. So does every one of the First People who stand outside this building today. You whom we elected, by your oaths of office do now right, and restore to both our states honour and fealty to truth, wiping out the stain forced on your predecessors, and on us all. Thank you for listening, and may God bless you and be with you this day.”

Ramona swore later that applause and cheering started on the floor, among legislators who came to their feet, not in the gallery, but wherever it was it surprised me as I turned from the mikes. I’d expected to leave them to get on with it, but with governors and speakers all standing I had to endure it. I filed under useful practice, offering smiles, but after a minute which felt like an eternity and was threatening facial cramp, I tried my volume slider and to my relief it worked.

“It’s very kind of you, ladies and gentlemen, but you have discussing to do and, I hope, a bill to adopt and pass, while the governors and I need to talk about timing.”

I gave the senior Speaker a deep nod he acknowledged, turned, and this time got a few steps before a familiar sense had me spinning to see Coyote pop into existence where I’d been standing. He was coyote-headed but only so no-one could doubt identity, and morphed human with a solemn face, holding up a hand.

“How, massed legislators of the Pacific North-West. I don’t have an invitation, and I do have lots of things to do today, so I’ll keep it short and sweet.” He jerked a thumb in my direction. “What she said. And swiftly, please. Farewell.”

And he disappeared. I couldn’t stop my laugh, setting off more from floor and gallery, though there was shock among it, and shook my head.

“I can’t say don’t mind him, Mr Speaker, because ignoring Elder Spirits is never wise, but do please reassert proper procedure. He’s just doing his bit to keep you all honest, while providing a soundbite.”

And manufacturing another campaign poster, I’d bet, but that could wait, so I let the freaked-but-concealing-it governors escort me and the wolves out, pausing to thank volunteers, return the remote, and collect Andrea. Coyote had hit the mark with _them_ , as shining eyes and wide, wide grins attested, but what he’d done to the massed legislators of the Pacific North-West except goose them mightily I was less sure. Once we were out some corridor-mazing brought us to the governor’s office, and Mary Jo and George joined security at the door, while Warren, Auriele, and Brent stayed with me. Oregon eyed them.

“Are you always this well guarded, Ms Hauptman?”

“Pretty much, these days, ma’am. It connects to that other matter neither I nor the President can yet discuss.”

“Huh.” Washington shook his head. “Your contacts are seriously impressive, Ms Hauptman. So was that speech.” He looked at Oregon. “Odds they won’t adopt and pass today?”

“Nil. Even moving I84 and the railroad plus bridge.” She too shook her head. “How you made doing that a positive is for the books. Free tunnels?”

“Yup, and road foundation, which’ll take Medicine Wolf maybe a day each, it thinks, so I wasn’t joking about timing. The whole thing can be done before the Falls re-emerge. You’re both invited to the Sacred Space when they do, as are the President and Secretary Sawyer, and we’ll have definite dates very soon.”

“ _Before the_ …” Oregon stared. “Oh dear Lord, you’re serious.”

“Un huh, ma’am. The animals will be there as soon as, so getting it done is good, and it really should be only surfacing, signage, and lighting needed. A score of those big laying machines, and a joint workforce for the rest, with troll muscle available. No real problem, surely?”

Oregon stared some more. “I don’t think I want to know what you’d consider a real problem, Ms Hauptman, but no, I suppose not, if we pull machines off other sites for a concerted effort.”

“Excellent, thanks, ma’am. And you already know what I consider real problems — Cantrip, Gray Lords trying to kill me, Hanford, to name only ones I’ve fixed. This is just logistics. And I bet if you each tell a bunch of civil engineers they can come see Medicine Wolf open tunnels if they supply at least one asphalting machine and a truck, you’ll find yourself hip-deep in them before you can say blinding state efficiency.”

Andrea couldn’t stifle a grin and Auriele had an amused glint in her eye.

“There’s that.” Washington’s voice was very dry. “But however I84 is both here and there, or will be, what we’re both wondering, Ms Hauptman, and doubly so after that display of oratory, vision, and power, is some other timing. We both think you will, tomorrow, be at least trailing a presidential candidacy, and that if you stand you will win both our states by a landslide of historic proportions, regardless of who wins either of our parties’ nominations. We are both running for re-election, and have privately discussed your very interesting ideas about the Pacific North-West leading the national way.” He took a deep breath. “So we have a problem. It would be a huge political risk for both of us, but if you stand we will have to think very hard about endorsing you.”

Thanks to Mary and the Man I’d seen this coming, and nodded. “I get that, sir, ma’am. Is this office surveilled?”

“It is, but the system’s off.”

“And are you willing to give oaths to keep anything I say closely secret until it’s public, meaning tomorrow for some, next week for the rest?”

They were, so I hauled out my phone and sent a message. While I waited on a reply I told them what I’d be saying tomorrow, and was just about done, pleased by their expressions, when my phone pinged. I looked down, and turned it so they could both see.

**Mr President, do you mind if I tell WA and OR whom you’re willing to endorse? They’re both asking me if they should do the same, and have given oaths of secrecy until tomorrow+.**

**Surprise. That was a hell of a speech even before your Da popped in, so I’ll say it tomorrow, once you’re done. Go ahead and tell them they’ll be in good company.**

Two deeply croggled faces were raised to me.

“Depends on your value of _good_ , but whatever your National Committees say you wouldn’t be alone, I’m hoping by some way. I have full preternatural endorsement, plus the Yakama Nation and a bunch more First People.” I looked at a blinking Oregon. “You need to know about my position on gun control” — I filled them in, summarily — “and that my running-mate would be Andrea’s dad, Frank Lafferty.” We both filled them in, a little, though like his daughter Frank needed to be met to be truly appreciated. “And then there are these, which the Man has seen.”

I flipped through a selection of Coyote’s posters, ending on the River-Devil one. Oregon put a hand to her mouth.

“That’s for Times Square. I’m telling you because the next to last thing you need to know is that putting myself and what I’ve done forward like this makes me antsy, but I’m good with it because while this whole deal is a form of insanity, I’ve come seriously to believe it’s possible, and if it happens I really will be doing what I promise. More than one constitutional amendment, a greener, cleaner USA, a try for sensible drug and gun laws, and the Paths of Assertion and Mercy with the pedal to the metal.”

I took a deep breath.

“The last thing you need to know — and Andrea, I regret not having cleared this with Frank, though I think he’ll be good with it — is that if it all happens I will be endorsing Irpa, the troll, in California’s twelfth federal ward and a 281-year-old werewolf for the Senate race in Kentucky, with a bunch of others, but if I have your dual endorsement I will ensure no independent candidate opposes either of you. The corollary is that we are all in line about the basics. Endorse me if you will, but if you do you are endorsing the major policies I will be advocating, whatever your parties decide about any of them. Bluntly, I welcome allies, but I am preternatural, and my bottom line is making our sworn words to the Fae, Marrok, Medicine Wolf, and Elder Spirits our bone-deep and unbreakable bond. If the Pacific North-West leads, it also leads in restoring honesty.”

I wanted their assent, and I’d seen my blows go home, from the Man’s swift response and Coyote’s posters to the implications of Irpa and the bicentenarian. When I was done they looked at one another for a long moment, before Oregon offered a hand Washington took, and they both offered hands to me, that I took while my coyote backbrain yipped in circles. In that moment two lifetimes of party loyalty disappeared for the common good, as well as regional and personal advantage, and I knew more than two individuals had shifted — endorsement by the Man and two local governors of different sexes and parties would ring a cathedral of bells. I almost got solemn about it, but news a vote had been called had us all moving, and with unanimous passage through all four chambers achieved at a stroke I gave them a taster by using the Freed to dragoon a public, joint signing-into-law on the steps of the capitol, legislators arrayed around beaming governors. After which any amount of First People partying broke out, and there was a great deal of good chaos.

Very much later I found myself lying on the grass in the Garden of Manannán’s Death, head pillowed on Skuffles’s flank while Adam and Jesse stared at the ice statue. Underhill hadn’t shown up, but Gwyn ap Lugh had passed through with warm words, and Irpa was sitting cross-legged beside me, telling me about Dave Lemieux, who’d heard her say to KEPR she’d once dropped her glamour at a Dead gig, and dug up footage showing it. It had been at the Avalon Ballroom, and she had, after a blinking look from a Deadhead beside her, been offered a joint she’d taken with a shrug.

“Doesn’t do much for me in that small a quantity, Mercy, but he was being friendly.”

“Not a problem, Irpa. Adam doesn’t approve on duty, but that’s about military alertness. You could always say you did inhale but didn’t notice.”

She grinned. “Good one. I thought it was worth any negativity because it shows I really was resident in Haight-Ashbury then. And he said he’d asked Bob and the others, and they’re all fine with us using ‘Truckin’’ and anything we fancy. Did you know they did a tee of Purity bopping to ‘Scarlet Begonias’ while eating one, and tithed to her properly?”

“Yes, actually. They asked Jenny about it. I meant to order one but lost track.”

“Happens. I snagged several, and they’re good with me glamouring one, but I’ll ask Dave to put some aside for you and Jesse. Adam?” He turned. “Want a Grateful Dead tee with Purity bopping to ‘Scarlet Begonias’?”

“Surely.” He and Jesse came over, and after checking with Skuffles, lay down beside me, gazing at the statue. “But that … amazement, now. When you told me about it I thought I’d be foaming, and Warren had concerns. So did George. But Auriele and Mary Jo told me it was cool, as did Andrea, with stuff I didn’t quite follow about it being a wonderful reflection of your awesomeness that now makes fine sense. And though Jesse is so not going to hear this, it’s seriously hot. Finding, applying, and peeling away fig-leaves is going to be fun.”

“Tchaa.” I batted at his arm, but only gently. Anything more would have disturbed my mellow. “Pervert.”

“If you say so, love.”

“Pish. At least half the point is to give me a very good reason not to bring humans through as often as would be convenient.” Adam and Jesse stared. “Hey, never doubt it. Nothing is simple here. Another half is balance, and a third dissing Manannán again, because the duckpond was a washout on account of ducks not doing well Underhill. I’m still thinking about the fourth and fifth halves, but one is to do with more uphill justice times our respective heights.”

“Huh. You _are_ on a roll today.”

“Oh yeah. Roll on tomorrow.” Idle thoughts sparked zinging connection. “More importantly, I might have solved a problem we’ve been wrestling with.”

Using our matebond I passed Adam, and on a side channel Skuffles, who relayed to Irpa, a careful sequence of images, and felt his immediate resistance fade as he took it in. Skuffles and Irpa were laughing in unholy cacophony, and polite refusals to enlighten Jesse annoyed her no end and only made them laugh harder. Adam wasn’t so hysterical, but had growing amusement at the many angles it offered.

“You know or think it’s possible, love?”

“Think, and bet. Magic follows intent.”

“Yeah, it does. She’ll play ball?”

“Ditto. She did the escalating.”

“Huh.”

“One thing.” I took out my phone. “You take the pics, and explain them to Bran, Charles, and Samuel.” Adam’s face showed abrupt consternation. “Exactly. I’ll tell my dancing Da, which I count a bargain well in your favour.”

Irpa and Skuffles laughed even harder, and Adam stared before nodding sharply.

“Deal.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Needing data onscreen as banners or overlays, there was more tech set-up than usual, and I wound up in the kitchen with Caroline and Penny while cables and hard drives were wrangled. They were being complimentary about Olympia, having wondered how I’d do with a less impromptu speech, and reassured me Coyote’s joke had been appreciated.

“My heart was in my mouth when he appeared out of nowhere, Mercy, but I had to laugh. _What she said_ was perfect, because as soon as he said it I knew it was exactly what I was feeling too.” Penny gave me a look that was more than amused. “You did all the logic, and had people’s heads, but then you tied it back to the Accords and 1855 and grabbed hearts too. He just added a screamer.”

“I’ll say.” Caroline shook her head. “I’ve never seen anyone expropriate seven miles of interstate before, and you got cheered for it.”

“Sacred Spaces get bypasses, Caroline. And while I was, um, finessing cause and effect, Elder Spirits really are claiming the Falls. I can get you both in for the re-emergence, but you won’t be able to film the Falls themselves, only the guests.”

“For real?”

“Very real. It’s a tightrope for me, because I am of course using your cameras, but if not so many Yakama still think photography steals the soul, lots feel very strongly that some things should be permanently off-limits to Anglos, and the Falls are top of the list.”

“Huh. Who are the guests?”

“Full preternatural house, governors, Sawyer, and the Man, with who knows how many First People. Yakama Council’s inviting chiefs from all over, but only those four Anglos.”

“Sounds fun. The President’s accepted?”

“Yup.”

Penny sat up. “Was that what you were talking about at The Dalles?”

“Among other things. He’s been helpful greasing wheels for yesterday.”

“Good to know. I have to say I’ve liked what I’ve seen from him in the last year more than I ever did before.”

“Me too, Penny. He dropped the ball with Cantrip, and I can’t say I rate his record in oil, but yeah, he rose to a challenge. Sawyer too.”

We talked about progress in curbing industrial pollution and pushing hybrids, and the harder problem of fertiliser run-off which was blocked by the aggressive technocracy of Big Agribusiness. Al came to tell me data-slides were ready to roll, and we were good to go on the hour. I re-acquired cloak, feather, and Manannán’s Bane, let Caroline and Penny do minimal make-up, and we arranged chairs so light fell right. Time slowed on me as I held the data remote and thought about the irreversibility of the step I was about to take, but if I regretted the loss of privacy I had no doubts left, and the clock kept ticking in any case.

Caroline and Penny split an introductory spiel about my request to make it a joint broadcast, and kicked off by asking me why I’d done that.

“You could call it a symbolic gesture, Ms Taylor, Ms Ligatt, because I’m turning things around some today. It’s both simple and complicated. You know I’ve answered a lot of questions in the last eighteen months, from you and many people, but now I need to ask every citizen who is or will be of voting age in November a question in return, which is _Are you serious?_ ”

Eyes widened when I mentioned November, and Penny blinked.

“Are we serious?”

“Yes. Since my stepdaughter Jesse started that _#MercyForPresident_ hashtag there have been tens of millions of likes, retweets, and whatever, and people keep saying not only nice things about me, but strong things. But how does, or doesn’t, all that translate into real support? On the face of it I am a wildly improbable and way underqualified presidential candidate — only of legal age in November, never elected to public office, unwilling to join either main party, a coyote-girl married and mated to a werewolf who had film of her killing her rapist leaked planetwide.”

Both women were staring.

“It’s not the usual CV, and by most logic ought to rule me right out. But that is not what so many people seem to be saying, and there is a counter-argument that being a rank outsider is a point in favour. There are other truths as well, because I am the only living Elf-friend and Troll-friend, strongly dominant among wolves as well as my own kind, the person who most recently cut out the River Devil’s heart, current wielder of Carnwennan, which really did belong to King Arthur and now acknowledges me, and a primary cause of Cantrip’s abolition and ex-senator Heuter finding himself on Wyoming’s Death Row, where he belongs. If elected I would be the first female, Amerindian, and coyote, and second non-Anglo president. And what really matters is that I would be rock-solid guaranteed as president to uphold the Medicine Wolf Accords in full, accepting as an unbreakable bond the oath sworn last year on all our behalves by the President. It is essential whoever is elected does that, in spirit and letter, so much so that presidential and congressional oaths of office should be emended to say so. Continuing to get greener is also safety-critical. And I can’t say I’m impressed by anyone who has already declared candidacy — they seem to think pollution’s just dandy, and not one has formally addressed the Accords. So, I ask again, are you serious?”

I hit the button and a banner came up : [www.MercyForPresident.org](http://www.mercyforpresident.org/).

“I aim to kill several birds with one stone, because a lot of what goes wrong in our politics, and parties, is to do with finance. If you’re running it costs, so you have to fundraise, and hey, Mr Billionaire, Mr Corporation, Mr PAC, would I do what for how many million? More or less every federal representative has been financially compromised before they’re elected. So I’ll do it by crowdfunding or not at all. I’m going to lay out major policies I’d propose, and who else would be on my ticket, and if, _if_ , when you’ve heard all that you think you’d vote for me in November, and for other independents on the same slate, then I ask each of you to donate ten bucks. No more, no less. Ten bucks per pledged vote — not a problem for you, and enough that if I do have a majority out there I’ll have the funding to go for it without taking a cent from any corporation, or more than ten bucks from anyone.”

I took a deep breath.

“That’s the simple bit. _Are you serious?_ If so, please put ten bucks where your mouth is. To work this needs everyone to big up, or small up anyway.” I grinned. “But now I need to do the complicated bit, which has a bunch of stuff. First up, I am not dancing on my own. I’ve mentioned a slate, and if it happens that will include citizens who are full-blood and half-fae, wolves, avatars, and preterophile or just tolerant humans, in many different races, local, state, and federal. Electing me while filling Congress with mainstream party members owned by Business as Usual makes no sense. And while it all remains contingent, there would be some really interesting candidates in major federal races, beings who would be _very_ good for the standards and intensity of political debate, and get things done properly. I won’t go into detail now, with one exception, but if it turns out you are serious, and I do run, I’ll give you plenty next week.”

I tapped, and a slide filled the screen, leaving me on voiceover.

“The exception is my putative running-mate for Veep, Frank Lafferty. Most of you will never have heard of him, though you might recognise his daughter Andrea, a lawyer here, from the memorable time she served Ms Bostock and Fox News on air. But he’s a good man — a history teacher and debate coach who is wise, kind, tough, and very smart indeed. He’s also, you’ll notice, male, Anglo, older, and an Easterner, and yes, I’m offering as much balance as I can. We agree about a lot of things, and complement one another. If we’re a go, he’ll be here next week, and in the meantime his full CV and a video interview are on the website.” I restored the URL. “Ms Ligatt?”

“The two-broadcast structure is because you’re giving us a week to make up our minds?”

“Yes. If it’s only a million or two people who like a good hashtag, any money donated will be returned, and I can get on with my life. But if it’s anything that looks like a real shot, I’ll be off and running. Do people want me in charge for four years? Time to make up your minds, everyone.”

“Honest, smart, and a kick in the pants. Way to go, Ms Hauptman. So what else is complicated?”

“All sorts, Ms Ligatt. But next up is what everyone on my slate will agree to support, and a rider about fundraising, because we won’t only be crowdsourcing, we’ll be doing it strictly locally. Just as I won’t accept corporate money or large donations, nor will anyone on my slate. If someone’s running in Kentucky, say, they will accept donations only from Kentuckians, and if they’re running for mayor or DA in city x, only from residents. Local control for local races, state for state, federal for federal. And at every level what we’ll want to do is set the Medicine Wolf Accords in stone, promote the Paths of Assertion and Mercy, get greener fast, and get better acquainted with the truth about ourselves, our histories and nation. This is all on the website, with more detail, but I can bullet three constitutional amendments — one to change presidential and congressional oaths of office to include upholding the Medicine Wolf Accords ; one to protect rights of preternatural citizens ; and another go at an Equal Rights Amendment for women. Each will have corollaries in educational practice, to ensure everyone hitting eighteen knows they do not have to fear the preternatural if they respect it, nor fear being a woman or non-Anglo in this country. I can’t make _I do not need enemies to know who I am_ a policy, but I mean it, and it will be the spirit of other policies. Cantrip made us take a look at ourselves, and do things about what we saw. I think we need to go right on doing that, and that Congress and the Beltway could do with a good shake-up and fresh faces.”

“Now that rings bells, Ms Hauptman, including mine.” I could see Caroline thinking. “But fresh faces will face the same problems that have always proven intractable. Anything to say about those?”

“Two at least, Ms Taylor, and the first is a doozy. Gun control. I am a gun owner and user, for self-defence.” I grinned. “I don’t need a gun to go hunting — coyote teeth work fine on rabbits — but more or less everyone on planet has seen me kill a man, and knows I killed the River Devil. I can also confirm that when he kidnapped and tried to kill me, I killed Manannán mac Lír, with serious help, using magic, iron, and silver, and while bullets would have been no more use against him than the River Devil, no-one is taking away my guns. But I am not an idiot, I do not and never will belong to the NRA, and I am sick to death of their rigid stupidity costing us thousands of innocent lives every year. Yes, you bet citizens have the right to bear arms, in self-defence and for hunting, and if someone is truly threatening you and yours, you take them out any which way you can. But one, if you hunt an animal that is not threatening you, you’d better be intending to eat it, and two, civilians do not need military-grade weapons. We accept that the right to bear arms does not cover nuclear, chemical, or biological weapons, nor missiles or explosives, and no citizen needs weapons designed purely to inflict mass casualties on the battlefield. So I want a gun lobby I can trust to protect my gun-owning rights, _and_ trust not to do things as stupid as demanding abolition of the ATF and opposing background checks for mental illness and criminal records. And there is no such lobby.”

I slid another banner onscreen.

“Until now. Sane American Gun Enthusiasts will continue regardless of whether Frank and I wind up running, and will work for a clear border between handguns and rifles that are legitimate for citizens, and things that are for the military only. The NRA and other extremists talk, forgive me, complete bull about this. I go armed, always, with one or more of cold iron, lead, silver, and magic, and I have had rogue humans, rogue wolves, one River Devil, and rogue fae up to and including a Gray Lord, come at me with deadly intent.” And way too many vamps. “They are all dead, and I did not need any kind of machine-gun to ensure that, nor any mechanism for boosting my rate of fire. Adam has a video on the SAGE website about this, because unlike every last member of the NRA council he _has_ been in all-out military combat, _and_ defended himself from attack as a private citizen, and he knows when you truly need an M-16, or an F-16, and when it’s just boys waving egos around. So, distinctly from asking you if you’re serious about me as president, if you are a gun-owner, or even if you’re not, and you think what I’m saying makes solid and common sense, which to me is a no-brainer, then please join SAGE. Membership is five bucks a year, just to cover basic website and staffing costs. And if you’re presently a member of the NRA, and willing to switch because their rigid idiocy has annoyed and disappointed you as much as me, please send SAGE and the NRA an email telling us why you’re switching, and any good ideas for sane gun laws you have. Frankly, I regard the NRA as having betrayed every American who believes in the right to bear arms, because they’ve been so dumb about it that millions of kids who very reasonably resent and fear school shootings have been driven to call for constitutional bans and all sorts, when there are perfectly workable answers we could have implemented years ago. So if you agree, note the SAGE URL, and once I’m done, get online and vote with your feet and five bucks. We’ve made the website as robust as we can, but I suspect there may be a lot of you trying, so be patient with any delays, hey?”

I held up one finger, then a second.

“So there’s a gun-control policy. The second example I’ll give is drugs, because while I’m not at all sure what _exactly_ we need to do, I am crystal clear the War on Drugs President Nixon launched has been lost, and the legislation we have is not working. _The Onion_ said it in a headline once — DRUGS WIN DRUG WAR — and that’s spot-on. The only real effects of criminalisation are to keep up the street price of illegal drugs and skew imprisonment by ethnicity, while more than half the problem is with prescription stuff, like Oxycontin. More than one state already knows that perfectly well, and one big step we need is federal decriminalisation, at minimum, probably legalisation. States need to decide for themselves, and I’m not prepared to second-guess what they’ll do, given the chance, but I am clear this debate is not only about the usual suspects. It’s also about alcohol. Facts are that one bottle of cheap liquor, chugalugged, can kill you very dead, nastily, while to kill himself with marijuana an adult man would need about four pounds, and after the first eighth of an ounce he’d fall asleep. Having booze legal and grass illegal, to quote Mr Spock, does not compute, captain, and while I can’t say what I’d bring forward as bills, I can say what we have right now _has_ to change, because it is unfit for purpose and counter-productive.”

I gave Caroline a wider grin than I quite felt.

“So I trust that answers your question, Ms Taylor, but while there are other old problems, there are also new issues everyone needs to be clear on. I need to say for the record that I have the permission of the Marrok and Elder Spirits to reveal what I’m about to. And the reason I’m doing this is because honesty and honour demands it. I am asking citizens if they are willing to vote for me, so they need to know what they’d be voting for. Yet this is not easy for me, nor others, so there’s a preamble. Ms Taylor, Ms Ligatt, you know a lot of questions have been asked about the increasing discrepancy between Adam’s known age and physical appearance, and that I duck them. Not any more.”

“Right.” Penny was looking quite shocked, but professionalism carried her through. “On paper your husband is 68, but he looks maybe 30.”

“Adam is 68. He was born in 1951, conscripted in 1969, and forcibly Changed with David Christiansen, surviving that wolf warlord’s attack, in 1971, when he was just 20. The speculation that werewolves do not age is correct, but there are way more complications than the speculators have ever bothered to think about.”

My stomach muscles were clenched.

“In theory werewolves can live for ever. In practice the average life span of a newbie wolf has been hovering around nine years for a while, because despite the strength and healing there are massively heightened risks, not only from humans, although God knows very many American werewolves have been murdered by humans since 1776. Newbies are vulnerable to other wolves, other preternaturals, and some prey species — a bunch of timber wolves are killed each year hunting elk and moose, and with that kind of weight werewolves can go down — as well as to silver poisoning and drowning. You already know from _Living Free and Moonbound_ that female werewolves cannot carry to term, and here’s another thought to ponder — yay, you don’t die, or age much, you just go on getting older … while your husband or wife, and children, and all your kin and friends, do age, and wither, and die. What do you do? Try to Change them too, to share your longevity? That means savaging them almost to death, and more than half the time killing them in the attempt. Old wolves are seriously vulnerable to suicide, for compelling reasons.” I thought of Asil. “Tolkien readers might think of Elrond. He chose to be immortal while his brother chose a mortal life, and Elrond saw his brother die, happy and content, followed by sixty-two generations of nephews before Aragorn. To be undying unless killed is not the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, nor anything like, but it is part of the curse and reality of being a werewolf. And of being an avatar of an Elder Spirit.”

Jaws dropped.

“You are undying?”

“Unless killed. I am today 34, but if I avoid assassination, which I have so far, um, seven times, not counting Cantrip, I could make it to 340 or even 3400, though that would be a new avatar mark by a long way. We have heightened risk factors too. So if I run and am elected, we might have to revisit lifetime payment and security for former presidents, because I could be one of those for a _very_ long time.”

“And term limits.”

Caroline’s voice was a bit breathy, and I grinned edgily.

“No more than two consecutive terms is just fine, Ms Taylor, for all sorts of reasons, but I suppose we could say that after a century out of office someone would be eligible for two more. Can’t say I’m keen, though. In any case, the point people need to take on board is that I felt I could not offer to run without being honest about my life expectancy and Adam’s, and the Marrok accepted that obligation. Yes, it was a shoe waiting to drop, but I have, with full permission from the Marrok and Elder Spirits, and unanimous support from US Alphas, just outed wolves and avatars as undying. If you weren’t born an avatar, that’s out, but foolish humans seeking to be Changed is going to be a burden for wolves we need to minimise. _Think_ about all this, people, and hard. Wannabe a werewolf? Wanna strip before a large crowd, and invite a wolf in wolf form to rip your body apart to a point, if the wolf gets it right and you’re very lucky, that you just, maybe, almost, don’t die, by the shredded skin of your changing teeth? Wanna be moonbound for ever, meaning on average nine years? As I think you realised long ago, Ms Ligatt, there are hard reasons the Marrok has allowed so much data to come out on _Living Free and Moonbound_ , and everyone needs to look at the stats for the Wyoming murders too — 26 alive, barely, and over 300 very dead indeed.”

I held up both hands.

“But of course there is an upside to longevity, and more so on the Paths of Assertion, Mercy, and the Manitou. Medicine Wolf’s millions of years make even Elder Spirits and Gray Lords look like pikers when it comes to immortality, but one thing real age means is a vast amount of practical experience. Negotiating with beings like the Marrok and Prince Gwyn ap Lugh requires extreme care, and there are stringent limits to what anyone sane will even fantasise about attempting, but they do not deny that their kinds’ long experience is a resource they might offer on the Path of Mercy. So to be practical, one thing is that if I run and win, my advisors will include citizens who have collective millennia of hard experience.”

Individual millennia too, but I wasn’t going there, yet.

“And a second thing is, yes, there are in the US living preternaturals whose age is in three figures and who witnessed large chunks of history, on this continent and elsewhere. If you recall, my degree from Wazzu is in history, I’ve never stopped reading it for fun and what I think of as a citizen’s duty, and among the brilliant work there are errors and systematic biases. As an obvious example, the history of First People, Amerindians, has been skewed sideways and plain ignored, and the historians are going to have to confront wolves, avatars, and fae who will as eyewitnesses tell them that what they say about Custer or Crazy Horse, and mostly don’t say about Buffalo Road Calf Woman and Black Coyote, is plain wrong, or however wide of the mark. Bluntly, humans tend to think anything more than five- or six-decades back is ancient history, and irrelevant. Preternaturals don’t, because if we didn’t see it ourselves we’ve talked to someone who did. And those who survive to lead preternatural kinds, as the Marrok and Prince Gwyn ap Lugh have done, in their particular ways, can do so because they live and learn a great deal over a long time. The long-lived must, inevitably, suffer loss, and there is much they don’t care to remember, but they become great resources for those with shorter spans who face similar and perennial problems.”

I went on looking straight at Al’s camera.

“If you tell me you are serious, and the massed run of independents happens, I am not the only being who will make such disclosures. With the Medicine Wolf Accords a bunch of secrets became obsolete and spilled. Now, more will do so, not because we could not go on concealing them, but because we are honest. You have all heard Prince Gwyn ap Lugh and know the fae cannot be forsworn. Equally, you have heard me say that lying to werewolves is neither easy nor wise — they hear lies, as I do, and tend to despise liars. Avatars are also, like almost all First People, less than impressed by fast talk, sharp practice, and habitual dishonesties. And all that is why most preternaturals, including me, do one of two things — stay shtum, or tell truth. There are, and if you are serious will be, things I am not telling you, period, but I do not and will not lie, to you or to myself.”

I picked up Manannán’s Bane, hoping Andrea was right about this one.

“A few more facts, so they are on record. Most of you have seen me travel by archway, which I can do only because of the rose cloak Underhill gifted me after I appealed to her justice over Manannán mac Lír. When I use it, I go Underhill, to the Garden of Manannán’s Death, and from there to wherever I’m bound. As the US recognises Underhill as sovereign unto itself and the Fae, I technically leave US territory, very briefly, and have wondered about the wisdom of that in a president, but I do not think any law or principle is broken, and as the cloak has a vastly lower carbon footprint than Air Force One I have no intention of stopping. What I can do is give you my word that while the cloak is a fae artefact, like Manannán’s Bane, their magic heeds and amplifies mine, not anyone else’s. By Underhill’s word, the cloak is mine for life, and by Prince Gwyn ap Lugh’s none other can use its magic. Manannán’s Bane chooses to stay with me, as does Carnwennan, and I will never refuse their friendship.”

It might provoke a legal challenge, but if I did run, and win, no-one would have a leg to stand on.

“Finally, so far as disclosures go, I will remain, whatever happens, _de facto_ co-Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, and as the pack would stay in the Tri-Cities I would be back here frequently. Normally, even weekly commuting here to DC would be insane, but, rose cloak, so no problem. Adam and I would have to do a bunch of juggling, but we do that anyway, as do all presidents. Moreover, know that because I am coyote, and no less dominant than Adam, he cannot use werewolf magic to give me orders. Neither can the Marrok. I am and will remain my own woman, as well as a wife, mate, and mother.” One more deep breath. “Which leaves one more thing before I wrap up. Al and Dwayne, the screen will give you a silhouette, but no peeking.”

I laid cloak, feather, and remote aside, rose, and went behind the cloth screen I’d set up to one side. I kept my back to it while I stripped, went coyote, and trotted out to hop onto the chair, cloak rustling welcome, and tap with a claw to slide lettering onscreen sentence by sentence, while I gazed at the camera, coyote eyes glittering mischief as well as truth.

I know you all know, but be reminded.

As I once told Underhill, in fear of my life, I am not human.

I am half-human, half-coyote.

I have two forms, I use magic, I see ghosts.

I also hunt rabbits on four legs, catch them, and eat them raw,

though on two legs I am a superior cook.

And my Amerindian name is

She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It.

(Including myself, right now, but it works.)

I have been named Elf-friend and Troll-friend,

by Underhill, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, and Vorðr,

and I am very happy to be so.

Yes, I hold and keep any number of secrets, rightly.

Don’t ever tell me you didn’t know all this.

And if you are serious, get set, because as soon as I’m back on two legs and clothed I’ll be giving you chapter and verse.

Enough was enough, and I scooted back behind the screen, shifted, and dressed, ignoring hunger pangs. Sitting again before a silent and slightly dazed Caroline and Penny, I redonned the cloak, set the feather back in my hair with the little twist that made it stay put, and gazed at the camera, tapping to bring the first banner up again.

“So you have all seen. _Are you still serious?_ I would be a gamble, and I am coyote — there will be chaos and upset, however it’s good chaos and needed upset. If you are serious, haul out your plastic and head to the website. We’ve made it _really_ robust, so it shouldn’t crash, but again, bear with any delays, please.” I brought up an image that reduced me to a top-corner box. “When you get there, there’s a front screen, with a list of who’s on board and a counter, plus a big REGISTER AND DONATE button, then a personal data screen — who are you, how old are you, and where are you registered to vote — and a standard secure donation form for CC data with one extra dialogue box, which I’ve highlighted, asking what you want me to do if there aren’t enough of you who are serious, so I scrap all this. Do you want your ten bucks recredited to your CC or to go to _Clean Up the Basin?_ And after that there’s a screen asking for suggestions about who might stand on my slate in local, state, or federal races that matter to you. If we’re going to have a political clear-out, we need to crowdsource new candidates. Please keep suggestions serious. If it’s someone you know personally, ask before you submit their name. If it’s someone you don’t know personally, give reasons for making the suggestion clearly and sharply. And think as far outside the box as you like — it’s SOP and business as usual that got us into this mess, and thinking sideways as well as forwards is good. So is mass participation. Cantrip was abolished because we marched in numbers, and to get back to being the land of the free and home of the brave will take serious activism.”

Caroline had pulled her head together. “Do the Federal Electoral Commission know about all this, Ms Hauptman?”

“Yup. I ran it by them, and took legal advice. There’s no precedent, but it’s lawful. And while I have no intention of standing back from _Clean Up the Basin_ , I have put firewalls in place so there is no confusion about money raised charitably, and political funding by donation. There will be ongoing scrutiny by the FEC so everyone can see it’s above board.”

So had Penny. “I imagine the Freed Pack are big supporters, but I’m not sure _Living Free and Moonbound_ can deal with overt politics.”

“I don’t want to cause the show problems. I’m sure Ramona and others will have things to say, but so will all citizens, and multiple legal opinion is that if you’re covering them, consistently, as you are, and they spend time doing security for my campaign, which they will if it happens, saying and showing so is not over the line. You’ll have plenty of other things to cover, Ms Ligatt, as well as yesterday in Olympia. Then again, there’s a clear connection between that busy week last year, the Freed, and my decision, but what you do about that is for you to decide.”

“And the producers.” Penny gave a weak grin. “But I’d say you’re going to get so much free airtime anything I do would be a drop in the bucket.”

“Maybe. In any case, everyone, the points are _Are you Serious?_ and if I’m right and we’re lucky, SAGE over the NRA. Oh, and the person who really pushed me into doing this is Jesse, who thinks a lot of kiddos have strong feelings about how their parents should be assessing who to vote for, so if you find children asking hard questions, bear with them, please. They’ll probably be good questions that deserve thought, and the young are rightly angry about the ecological mess we’ve made.”

“Tell me.” Caroline cocked her head. “You know, Ms Hauptman, I had a hatful of ideas about what you might be saying today, none even close. Hello again, left field, and then some.”

I laughed. “You could say, Ms Taylor, but it’s just being coyote and changing rules on people. There’ll be more as and when, if it happens.”

“Do you really doubt it will?”

“Not so much, given the numbers, but I do not take anyone’s vote for granted. It is a right, a privilege, and a duty to vote, and I need to know people are serious about me before I disrupt my life, and Adam’s and Jesse’s, as badly as this will if it happens.”

“Un huh. You never have been one to make assumptions, but I think we’ll be back here next week to hear you announce, and the office pool on just how strong your support will prove is going to be fun.”

“Glad to amuse. And I can promise any campaign would be entertaining as well as serious, if only because my ever-so father is dreaming up posters and hashtags that make left field seem mainstream.”

“Ooh. Now that’s to look forward to.”

“You bet, and this is all about looking forward. Once again, bottom line, the main reason I’m doing this is because I do not trust anyone who has announced, or is tipped to do so, stringently to maintain the Medicine Wolf Accords or go on pushing greener policies as strongly as we need to. And that’s only the headlines. Do you trust them honestly to walk the Path of Mercy, seeking mutual cooperation between humans and preternaturals? To help the FBPA — or Farouts, we’ve decided it’s pronounced — be what we need it to be? To build on what we all gain with the Columbia Restoration and Cascadia evacuation? Genuinely to fight bigotry tooth and nail? Not to be in anyone’s partisan or corporate pocket?” I shrugged. “I don’t, and while there are bound to be things on which, if this happens, I have to compromise, none of those will ever be among them. No doubt a bunch of politicians and talking heads will say I’d be a very unsafe pair of hands, but on things that really matter, because they can kill us, I’ll be a very safe pair indeed. And that’s it for today, unless you have questions.”

“One maybe, Ms Hauptman.” Caroline looked thoughtful. “I gather there’s been a sharp rise in Yakama registrations to vote, across the Basin, in the last few days. Did they know about this?”

“No. But Elder Spirits and Yakama elders did, so they kept pushing voter registration, which they’ve been doing anyway on account of yesterday. And lots of people will be pushing registration nationwide. Jesse was involved in school pre-registration programmes long before this came up, and it’s a clear benefit of any outsider candidacy to stir up people who aren’t registered because there’s no-one they’ve ever liked or trusted enough to want to vote for. Getting turnout way up would be a victory in itself, and I’ll be watching registration numbers as well as the website.”

“I bet.”

“Un huh. It’s not just about me — if we want better representation of First People, more First People need to stand up to be counted, as candidates and voters. Historically we’ve had good reasons not to trust the system, but the Columbia Restoration and Elder Spirits being out is shifting minds everywhere, and I hope to see a lot of First People coming forward, politically, economically, and ecologically. Other minorities too. The system is _not_ in good shape, but the wind is changing and we really do have a chance to fix some things. Let’s go for it, people.”

“Right.” Penny grinned. “Will you use your Indian name campaigning?”

“Oh yes, Ms Ligatt. It’s true, and I’ll go on fixing things and dropping people right in it whether or not I run. It’s what coyotes do, and I am my father’s daughter, however not-exactly. It’s worked pretty well so far.”

“You could say. And that you’re doing it again right now, to all of us. Are we serious? We’ll soon find out.”

Caroline and Penny did the wrap, reminding people to tune in next week, and with a final slide showing both URLs Al and Dwayne ended transmission, putting down cameras. Al blew out a long breath.

“Damn, but you really don’t do things by halves, do you, Mercy?”

“What would be the point, Al? I can’t apologise for not warning you all, because it was necessary for all sorts of reasons, but I regret any strain.”

“Not a problem, Mercy.” Caroline had slumped in her chair. “With you I’ve come to appreciate being dropped right in it, and you have just put both of us on the very top of the national news cycle. I doubt the main parties will be so cheerful, though.”

“Me either.” Penny rolled her neck. “Serious panic will be setting in, I’d think.”

Her phone and Caroline’s beeped simultaneously, and they grabbed, peered, and stared accusingly.

“What?” Though I had a good guess.

“The first names showing on the website are the President plus the governors of Washington and Oregon. Ten bucks apiece.”

“Un huh. They’ll all announce endorsements today. They’re all joining SAGE as well, as is Sawyer, who’s quitting the NRA.”

“Forget serious panic. Try screaming hysteria.” Penny shook her head admiringly. “This election just went ballistic.”

And we hadn’t even gotten to vamps. Yet.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

The hysteria was immediate and prolonged, but website counters were spinning and ten-buck pledges pouring in with five-buck memberships of SAGE. Every media organisation there was wanted an interview, but Mary told them all I’d done that bit and now it was up to US citizens of voting age. The delighted volunteers were beavering away, Andrea was recruiting staff, and I left them to it. I did take calls from senior allies, but as they all seemed to think I’d done well, that was alright. The Man was hugely amused, despite shock about undyingness, quite enjoying the vitriol from his own party, and delighted to agree he had no objections to any of Coyote’s posters, and roll on Times Square. Bran was the only fly in my ointment, because he wanted to talk about giant nude ice me.

<Gwyn ap Lugh has no objections, Mercy — quite the opposite, and took me to see it — but is genuinely surprised. Underhill does not have a track record in figurative art, and the thought of more statues popping up around the place is … alarming.>

“Un huh. Could they be counted on not to move?”

There was a silence.

<Indeed, though I doubt that was what ap Lugh meant. It is the politics he’s wondering about.>

“Oh yeah. The fountain was mostly one in the eye for Manannán. The statue’s something else. But beyond discouraging me from taking humans there, which is actually quite useful, it’s aimed at the fae. I told you Underhill said I’d outdone the Gray Lords in honour, and she’s chosen to post a reminder.”

< And more. I do not say it means what it would in wolf or human, Mercy, but there is love in that crafting, and gratitude. You insisted to ap Lugh that Underhill balanced all, and I believe she is. It is interesting Skuffles should be so taken with it, also. She was still there, and said she was thinking about powers she and you have that were once Manannán’s.>

“Huh. I’m relieved she can hang out in the Garden of Manannán’s Death when she isn’t with me. And I agree about balance, however I’d prefer an alternative form. Andrea thinks I should use the statue but wasn’t clear how. A copy wouldn’t exactly go with the tone of the National Mall.”

Bran laughed. <No. But word will spread, Mercy, among preternaturals and soon enough humans, so I am not so sure it is only aimed at the Fae. Think of it as another potent endorsement, perhaps.>

“That I can manage. Any problems with anything else?”

<No, and Alphas thought you did very well with the issues of age. Asil too, and the bicentenarians who will come out with Warren and Jeremiah. My thanks for taking point on that.>

Jeremiah Stourbridge was the wolf who’d be running in Kentucky.

“Good. And not a problem, Bran. I felt sick saying it, but like coming out as a coyote-girl it soon felt like a relief, and still does. I think Mary and Andrea were right more people than we supposed had already worked it out — commentary I’ve seen has been quite restrained, though who knows what might pop before the headless-chickening runs down.”

<Which will not be any time soon. With a surge in registrations already reported in most states, the governors of Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming have endorsed you today, and more will follow. Federal senators find it harder, but Westerners will follow the same calculus, and the party suits cannot begin to work out what they should do about it.>

“Also good, and as the registration surge is a real threat to them, I’m all for giving them as thumping a headache as I can.”

<Indeed. I also wanted to ask about the Farouts. Westfield told me of your summary advice, which is clearly correct, but I would be glad if you could see Wiseman sooner than later.>

“Un huh.” I’d thought about that. “I want Saturday free, but he could come Sunday afternoon and stay to eat with the earth fae. I’ll invite the AED, my dear old dad, Leslie, Clay, and families, plus Ramona, Zee, Tad, and Irpa, if they’re willing. Vamp stuff privily — he should have seen and heard Bonarata by then — with varied and useful contacts he’ll need.”

<Thank you. Will you fetch him by cloak?>

“No. Being convenient for agency directors would pall very fast.”

<True. Please get the invitation to him today. We have been careful with human sensibilities while they establish the Farouts, but with vamps swift guidance is needed and they know it. When will you call Marsilia?>

“6 p.m. No point annoying her more than I will anyway, and that’s 24 hour’s notice exactly.”

<Well enough. The hackers are set, and very pleased with themselves.>

“Shiny toys, money rolling in, and the Undead to be righteously smitten. What’s not to like?”

Westfield and the Man had agreed to the Borrowed Warchest, though the Feebs would retain a big enough chunk to cover all federal costs and then some. Further buried accounts had been found, and the target amount risen to an eyewatering level even by governmental standards.

<You are remarkably cheerful, Mercy.>

“It’s the new huorns.” They had arrived last night, Medicine Wolf attending to sort irrigation, and though there’d been nothing to see while they were about it except deeper darkness, sunrise had shown them lining South Meals and Piert Roads very nicely. “When I was walking round with Medicine Wolf, Nuthatch, and Pirandella welcoming them, soon after dawn, an early-bird paparazzo thought he’d struck gold until he wondered why we were laughing, checked his camera, and swore a blue streak. _It works!_ So yeah, Bran, I’m doing a happy dance, and hoping the Mercy’s Adventures people get a _lot_ of hassle from clients.”

He half-laughed and rang off, shaking his head and telling me not to let it all go to my own. I did have a ball of tension in my stomach about tomorrow, but I was truly happy about photographic protection, and happier still the Freed would have the same from tonight. Somewhere in my head it tied up with giant nude ice me, Underhill’s balances, and forced exposure, like forced outing, but if anything in that mattered it’d come clear in time. I sent Wiseman an invitation for Sunday talks and food, copying the AED, checking dietary requirements and including my guest-list, and as both accepted within minutes sent local invitations, explaining my reasoning, minus vamps, as Leslie’s and Clay families weren’t in the loop.

I also surfed news, but among pure political shock at the Man’s endorsement the only organised hostility was from misogynists and the NRA. The former were vile, but all it amounted to was male incredulity that anything without a dick could be capable of rubbing its stomach and patting its head at the same time, and more than one power was keeping tabs on anything that suggested action as well as spew. With the NRA what mattered was that they were already down more than 15% of their membership and finding it much harder to frame their case than they were used to, so I can’t say I was bothered by their words, and hoped their AGM would be painful.

International reaction was more varied, amused by oddity but concerned about such a wild-card presidency. Foreign policy was a very gray area for me, and though the Man never told me anything he shouldn’t I’d picked up indications of his resignation about having to judge between the least of a lot more than two evils, as often as not. The ecological side was more important most everywhere than in the US, though the gap was narrowing, so my concern with carbon footprints was welcomed, but clear concentration on domestic issues rang alarm bells I needed to think about. They _would_ be my priority, because we needed to set our own house in order before worrying about anyone else’s, but the international side of the vamp war could be a kind of positive.

After some reflection on my greatly expanded list of contacts, I used Adam’s system to call the Director of the CIA. I had to wait a while, which I found reassuring, but when he came on he began by telling me he hadn’t made it to the SAGE website yet, but would, and had already chipped in his ten bucks. I hadn’t been expecting that, and we talked a little about the profound frustrations with Congress he and many professionals of governance felt, and the way my honesty had hit hard. I filed several things away to ponder, and switched up to international vamps, sketching what I’d seen in global coverage and opening the delicate question of what effects US aid with vamps and my own role might have on that. He was wary, and ambassadors wouldn’t be briefed until Saturday, but took the point, and with the specific question of Italy we explored possibilities if Bonarata was dismissed. There wasn’t only vamp money in accounts ; there was also, according to Wulfe, a large bullion reserve and who knew what treasure troves, so rapid post-dismissal movement against properties was desirable and Bran had contact with Italian wolves. He promised to make calls, we rang off pleased with one another, and I went back to surfing.

Amerindian responses were mostly a loud _woot!_ , but First People being First People did manage some grumbling about my Anglo half and any number of Blackfeet jibes amid a thrumming, grateful pleasure about Celilo Falls and the Sacred Space, and what I had to call gleefully sharp apprehension about a coyote in high office. Either way, voter registration had slammed into overdrive, long lines outside more than one state office sending the psephologists haywire, which helped fuel other squawking. Better still, parading drawbacks openly and making all those disclosures had largely acted to neutralise, as I’d hoped, and the agonies of longevity had been registered with the advantages, while crowdsourcing with its levels of discipline was sparking heavyweight op-eds and talking-head debates everywhere that had started sceptical but were tipping as numbers went on growing. SAGE chopped across usual fault-lines on gun control, and most seemed good with what I’d said about drugs. Blowing out a breath I called it a job well done, and headed for the kitchen.

With so many guests and no reported vegetarians I decided on a recipe I usually avoided because it required marinating legs of lamb for forty-eight hours and cooking them for twelve, after which one wolf could strip one to the bone in about three minutes. For Sunday, though, human and fae numbers were up, wolf ones down, so subtle might be appreciated, and legs came out of the freezer to defrost while I made a batch of marinade involving an absurd amount of yoghurt and almost as many herbs and spices needing time to steep. To go with it I’d need only Basmati rice, lightly salted and rainbow-peppered, and a fresh green, which after inspecting the greenhouse was going to be snowpeas. Few as the wolves were they’d want pudding, and berry stocks were depleted, so I decided on trays of baked apples with plenty of raisins, currants, demerara and Barbados sugar, and maple syrup — all to hand, though I gave Yoke’s a call to add some occasionals to next week’s standing order.

I’d gone on to dinner, assembling steak, fries, and cabbage, when Coyote sauntered in wearing his PR Guru Extraordinaire tee.

“How, most eloquent daughter. Isn’t it all fun? Nice trees, too. And what’s this about an immodest statue?”

I was not having those pictures sent anywhere, and they’d been removed to a flashdrive. I fired up the laptop and opened the file.

“Oooh!” He flicked through stills and the video Adam had taken, and settled on a view from behind Manannán to the right. “Under-figleafed is right, daughter, and I bet Adam did some growling, but it’s a big compliment and very pretty. You get those excellent bones from me, of course, and have your mother’s figure, which was to die for.” I gave him a look and he gave me one back, eyes glinting. “Then again, I don’t believe you ever mentioned quite how big Manannán was.”

I shrugged. “He shrank when Underhill took his power, so what I killed was more my own size.”

“Good to know. And your point is?”

“How should I know? I have very mixed feelings.”

“About being heroic or naked as an under-figleafed jaybird?”

“Both.”

“Being larger than life myself, I recommend it.” That made me smile. “Better. As to the other, why fret when there’s nothing you can do about it? Everyone knows he grabbed you from the shower, and I shouldn’t think Underhill could lie about it by putting you in Armani or whatever. Those fig-leaves are probably quite a concession.”

“Huh. That’s a thought. It’s just that it’s flicked memories of other … exposures I had no choice about having to learn to live with.”

“Ah. The video?” I ejected the flash drive and his voice for once became gentle. “Even by my standards you have had a rough few years, daughter, and MacLandis left almost as bad a taste as vamp dust. But it’s all made you grow very interestingly. And really, it’s a pretty good statue. We could ask Medicine Wolf to replicate it using what’s left of Lawetlat’la and put you in bloomers and a granny bra.” I stared at him and he grinned. “Is under-figleafed so very bad by comparison?”

“That’s not the point. Are you serious about Lawetlat’la?”

“Maybe. I thought it was one of your better ideas.”

“Then just make sure whatever it is, it isn’t of me. Medicine Wolf can do a self-portrait.”

“That would be spectacular. Mmm.” He looked at me carefully. “It _is_ bothering you, isn’t it? So here’s a plan. If you win — and you’re well on the way — I’ll have a word with the spirits about getting you the clothes-when-you-change magic. A President Coyote really should have it.”

Something very warm was twisting in my heart. “Is that even possible?”

“Usually not, but they’re _very_ pleased with you about Celilo Falls, I already have the Coyote version, and being elected president is a high enough bar. Hmmm. It’d make a pretty good inauguration present, and then you could shift and howl assent as well as speaking the oath in Salish, Siksiká, and Spanish.”

That actually sounded right to me, though I doubted I’d be the only one howling. And the idea of having that particular bit of magic was, well, magic, so I fetched the cloak and Manannán’s Bane, explaining the idea, and set them by him on the table.

“Have a conversation about it, please. I might well be wearing and carrying them if I need to shift, and if, as ap Lugh keeps saying, I am integrating things well, their magics deserve a lot of the credit.”

“You are and they do.” He peered. “This has some serious punch.”

“It’s been boosted. Oh, and do I assume rightly that there will be a poster saying _What she said_ ?”

“Of course, but I need to see all the footage because I want a shot with their faces in. Their expressions were priceless.”

“Talk to Jenny. And you’ll need individual permissions.”

“Really? Boring.”

“They did unanimously give you back Celilo Falls.”

“True. Oh well. Maybe I could photoshop faces in instead, but they all looked so very surprised.”

“They might be willing, you know, but asking matters. And if you turned up when the houses were in session, you’d only have to do two trips. You could thank them, and goose them again.”

“Points, points. I’ll think about it. You Anglos have so many rules.”

I stuck out my tongue, and he laughed, but noise announced Jesse’s return from school with Dan, Marine Joe, and Ranger Joe, the guys wary as they saw Coyote, and Jesse looking pensive but brightening.

“Hey Gramps, Mom. What’s up?”

“Your mother’s pledge numbers, mostly, Graught. How was school?”

“Insane.”

I looked at Dan. “Problem?”

“Sorta, Mercy. I did want a word.”

“Of course. Let me introduce my living father.”

I did, Coyote looking interested, and made coffee and hot chocolate.

“I have guesses, but insane how, Jesse?”

“Every which way, Mom. Teachers as distracted as everyone, all wanting to ask mostly inane questions, plus SAGE and the post-Parkland people. They have genuine conflicts about going with gun enthusiasts, but see the real shot at significantly better control. I got to answer some social media in Civics, with permission and the class giving input, but I need to do a lot more.” Jesse took a deep breath. “I made a decision you might not like, too, but I had more than one reason.”

“Un huh.” I raised an eyebrow. “It was, and they were?”

“I talked to Ms Zeeman, and decided I can’t do _South Pacific_ , because one, I’m not the only person who could do that part so I’m not doing them down at all, two, the vamp and safety thing, and three, time management. Ms Zeeman asked what my commitment to you was, and whether I could honestly commit to the rehearsal schedule she wants, and I couldn’t.”

“OK. And you do or don’t regret this, ex-kiddo?”

“A little, but I’d have had to dye my hair some boring shade of black. I want to see it, but the real show is more important. You’re not upset?”

“No. I’d have been proud to see you knock ‘em dead, but nervous for you, and Adam would have had kittens having to watch you romance someone _and_ die, however on stage. And I’m just as proud of you for making a rational and clear choice under multiple pressures from many directions. Why does this become a problem?”

“Dan?”

“You have truly lit people up, Mercy. Most are positive but the pressure of kids trying to get to Jesse today was heavy. We had to muscle up in a new way on school premises.”

“Well, hell. It should drop off, some at least, Dan, as novelty wears off, but I’ll talk to Billings, and if kids are being stupid we can try some intimidation. David Christiansen will be here next week, and he scares the unruly well.”

“I appreciate the impulse, but insisting on SOP is not what you’re about. I was wondering about taking control of it. I didn’t have a chance to ask Ms Stallings, but she’s never had a student’s mom running for president, and I think she’d be good with me doing a weekly brief.” I got a wary look. “I know you and Dad have mixed feelings, but one thing I’ve wondered about is local reaction when the vamp thing breaks, because you are going to be busy with national and international reaction.”

I couldn’t deny it. “What do you have in mind, Jesse?”

“I have a nasty feeling I’m underestimating how much hassle it will be, but having constant guards marks me whether or not anyone knows my face, and you set a high bar for honesty, so I’m not unwilling to waive no images. I was wondering if KEPR or KNEW could be persuaded to set up a video intranet that’d take in Sally’s and Jenna’s schools, maybe others. Not a campaign — much — but sharing educational experience.”

I blinked, and Coyote whistled.

“That’s good thinking, Graught. Have another Coyote point.”

The problem with ex-kiddos is they are ex, and as it occurred to me I felt about Jesse and the media more or less how Adam felt about her and rampant boys I made myself do some hard thinking. Or accepting — Jesse had dealt well with a great deal she should never have had to cope with at all, and was doing it some more. When Adam came in a while later, curious about the vets’ continued presence, I bullet-pointed it for him. He held me, listening carefully, closed his eyes for a moment before giving a rueful nod, and looked Jesse in the eye.

“Sure, Jesse? It’s very good thinking, but you are _not_ obligated in any way, to me or Mercy, and there will be an irreversible cost to going public most of a year before you have to.”

“I know, Dad, but yeah, I am. And while I know what you mean, yes, I am obligated, more ways than I can count. Most fathers would have abandoned me to Christy, and there isn’t another stepmom in the world who’d have done for me what Mercy has. And it’s not just to you both. Kiddos live in a strange, strange world, that keeps getting stranger and is burning up, so the consensus is that we need the preternatural to break the _status quo_ so our own kiddos do not need thermal suits to take a walk.”

There was no arguing with that, so after some emotional moments that had Dan dabbing an eye and Marine Joe beaming like a lighthouse, Adam called Stallings, who loved the idea, and, keeping her on the line, Caroline and Penny. Both were sure their stations would be good with it if clips could be broadcast. Andrea had headed to Philly, but Jenny was around, and said she’d be happy to draw up contracts and disclaimers.

<Caroline, Penny, filming on school premises, you could not broadcast faces of minors whose parents did not consent, so audience shots might be a problem, but not Jesse saying whatever. And as you’re talking about schools in each Tri-City, talk to the three mayors tomorrow, and the governor. Oregon too. When this leaks, I will not be surprised if there are requests nationwide, and — no disrespect, Caroline — a PBS intranet might play very well for everyone. More very smart thinking, Mercy.>

“Jesse’s, not mine, Jenny. I wanted to scare everyone hassling her into pale submission, but she knows better.”

<Huh. Give her a big thumbs-up from me, then.>

Dan and both Joes agreed, as did Adam and I, for all we felt a little … not squicked, exactly, but sad despite our loving admiration. But that was going to have to wait, because it was nearly six. I thanked Stallings, Caroline, and Penny, cut connections, and on the hour hit the speed dial.

<What do you want? If it’s _my_ vote you can whistle for it.>

“Good evening to you too, Marsilia, and being both dead and Italian you don’t have a vote. What I want is a call to Bonarata, tomorrow at this time, in which I will speak for myself and Adam, the Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, and the Man. You’ll need a large screen.”

<You would speak to the Master?>

“Yup. The _status quo_ is not sustainable, Marsilia. Anyone who’s half-way sane knows it. Set the call up, or find yourselves blindsided.”

<Humans do not know of our existence.>

“Really? You killed those three captives of Cantrip, and we suppressed the torture data, so no human holding high office knows vamps exist? Try turning your brain on, Marsilia.” My hand found Adam’s. “Of course they know about vamps. D’oh. And as you may not have noticed in your undeadness, Elder Spirits and avatars, wolves, and Gray Lords are all now oathbound by treaty to the safety of US citizens. If you really don’t know, Marsilia, ask Stefan why he treats his sheep so much better than you treat yours or oblige vamps you call yours to treat theirs. The window in which vamps can freeload on Bonarata’s arrogant stupidity, assuming every other kind will dishonour themselves to protect your witless self-indulgence has closed. So unless you want to find yourself deported to Italy in an unbreakable plastic coffin, or staked like the victim in _Murder on the Orient Express_ , set it up, and set your own seethe in order.” I really didn’t like Marsilia, and irritation with idiots as well as disquiet over Jesse growing up twined into a saw-toothed snarl. “We kept you out of it with Gauntlet Boy, Bennet, Blackwood, and last year. No more, Marsilia. Killing those prisoners we freed wasn’t only as vile as it gets, it was as dumb as it gets. _Basta!_ I’ll call again at 6 tomorrow, with company”

I cut the call, hand shaking, as Adam wrapped a warm arm around me.

“ _May not have noticed in your undeadness_ ?”

“Made sense when I said it, love.” I shrugged. “Vamps have a different tunnel vision than Medicine Wolf.”

Coyote hooted laughter, and Marine Joe, more usefully, rose, visited the fridge, and spun me a beer.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Adam had a strong desire to lock me in the house and have the pack prowl around it, but even he conceded Marsilia would want to hear what I’d be saying before trying to kill me, so I got on with things as usual. After an assault on paperwork, I spoke to Jenny about plans. With the idea of my running in the open she’d been able to call people, and happily let me know the Boss, Bob Dylan, and Bob Weir were keen to head back to the Tri-Cities for a campaign launch, and strongly suggested I spoke to the Boss myself about Warren’s campaign. A lot of names had been put forward on the website, and volunteers were doing research. Reserving billboards was under way, including Times Square, and Jenny had interesting thoughts about things I could layer in when I announced. We’d both stopped saying ‘if’, because counters were still blurring and confirmed donations well into eight figures. It gave me a hollow feeling but also warm and fuzzy ones at the faith people were offering.

An hour with Mary saw my diary caught up, but as I wasn’t doing interviews until the allotted week was past there was less to deal with than usual — a relief which wouldn’t last. She’d need an assistant and had found someone who might fit the bill, a friend of Leslie’s who’d been full-time mothering for years but was looking to get back into PR work. Her file looked good, and we set up an interview for Monday.

I was saved from more paperwork by Nuthatch and Pirandella, who turned up with half-a-dozen newcomers to be introduced to Ramona and the Freed before settling into their new home on what we’d christened Earth Fae Island. They were nervy, so I offered lunch before we headed out. Baby carrots and corn made them blissfully thoughtful, and I reassured them that when I’d ordered the steamer set for Underhill — already delivered by a wide-eyed Amazon guy who told reporters the troll on the gate had been a whole lot politer than most human customers — I’d ordered another for Ramona. Then they climbed into the Cherokee, trunk lined with cotton towels, while Brent rode shotgun and wolves followed.

There were more paparazzi than usual, which didn’t surprise me given the arrival of full-grown trees, and they were very unhappy. I let Honey and George, on four legs, hold them off and took the earth fae straight through to the garden. Medicine Wolf was again taking up a lot of space, and from its look doing something magical, Freed around its head, talking softly to Penny. Closely spaced oaks were settling into new homes around the perimeter, and I could feel the tremble of magic. Ramona issued clear orders, and everyone stayed where they were while the newcomers looked carefully around. Then Nuthatch and Pirandella did formal introductions, Freed coming forward one at a time to sit and offer names and a warm welcome. I hadn’t counted on it, but it went well enough that the new earth fae were willing to meet Penny and her crew, briefly, before slipping between oaks and vanishing. I quirked an eyebrow at Medicine Wolf.

_The tunnel is done, Mercy, and I have made living space on the island. I was guiding roots to the water I have made available._

“Good to know, and my thanks.”

We didn’t get further because the Freed wanted to embrace me. Their need to do so had been strong for a while after Wyoming, fading as they settled and lives became busier, but my going public had stirred it up again, and with the physical contact submissives craved I got fervent wishes for luck and health. Some of it was worry about vamps and fruitcakes who might show up, but there was something more, reflecting what I’d said on air about the connection between that week of Cantrip and my campaign that ran through _them_. Nothing could truly compensate for what Cantrip had done, but at some deep level they had collectively decided the way their experience had given me some of my public authority and popularity was a counterweight, a genuine good arising from evil. It was humbling, and I hugged back, but we all knew we were on camera, and when the huddle broke most of them headed for the L and its pack space. Ramona stayed, watching me, and Penny came across with Dwayne the Camera and Don the Mike following.

“That was some greeting, Ms Hauptman. I expected the Freed to be strong supporters but hadn’t realised how important your candidacy would be to them psychologically.”

“Not for me to discuss, Ms Ligatt, though I will say the work that started with freeing them and abolishing Cantrip is far from done. Beyond that, I wouldn’t wish to politicise the fine job you’re doing on _Living Free and Moonbound_ , and that’s very important to them too.”

“I hope so. And thank you. May I ask where the earth fae went?”

“Where do any fae go when they vanish, Ms Ligatt? Give them a chance and they’ll probably talk to you some more, but moving Overhill today and meeting so many new faces has them a bit skittish.”

“Fair enough.” Penny shook her head. “Ramona said they, and these amazing trees, want to live Overhill for the space?”

“And the work — Underhill’s gardens tend themselves, but earth fae need land to care for. The trees want space, as I understand it, but don’t ask me how that works when Underhill _is_ space, or something related.”

“Un huh. And it’s pure coincidence they block photography, of course.”

“Not in the least, Ms Ligatt. You know there have been serious invasions of privacy here, and the trees are glad to exchange a gift of glamour for space and care. It’s win-win, and I don’t much care for any reasoning that says otherwise.”

“I imagine not, Ms Hauptman.” Penny gave a signal, Dwayne cut the camera and Don sound before she grinned and Dwayne laughed.

“Word’s out snapping your house has got a whole bunch harder, Mercy, but I expect Penny’ll ask about that on Wednesday. What’s weirding me out is that it isn’t blocking my camera.”

“I asked the trees not to.” Ramona clapped Dwayne on the shoulder. “You’re the good guys. Those ghouls outside are really not.”

“I wasn’t complaining — just freaked by, what, directional glamour?”

Realisation hit Penny, her gaze swinging to me. “That’s what you’re going to do at Celilo Falls, isn’t it? It isn’t that we won’t be allowed to film them — we won’t be able to.”

“Yup. Sacred means sacred. I told the truth in Olympia — those animals will be there, I84 and the railroad won’t. I just didn’t say reforestation will be surprisingly mature from the get-go and involve huorns.”

“Damn.” She looked at me, shaking her head. “More educational fun holding us to the straight and narrow. What about aerial photography?”

“It doesn’t work at Walla Walla, and if I can make it not work at Celilo Falls, I will. But blocking cameras is the least of it. The huorns here, at my house, and in the Sacred Space are or will be full-grown, but there are a _very_ large number of saplings available, and if they grow Overhill they will do some serious carbon capture. There’s the rain-shadow to think about, but anywhere in the Basin close to any part of the river system can get irrigation from Medicine Wolf, and there’s plenty of unused Western land with enough rainfall. New forests are high on my green agenda.”

All the humans were staring, but Dwayne knew some ecology.

“Very large number as in tens of millions?”

“Yup. Major reforestation is the only serious plan for braking global warming. Ordinary trees would do it, but self-planting ones will do it a whole bunch faster and cheaper.”

“Oh yeah. You had my vote anyway, Mercy, but that alone would win it.”

“Good to know, Dwayne. Forests are more interesting than plains anyway, and magical ones will be good for everyone. Think Brocéliande, but without Merlin’s tomb or the Vale of No Return.”

“Right.” He laughed, though Penny and Don were still staring. “Your campaign is going to be so much fun to cover.”

“I hope so.” Vamps aside, I meant it. “But I need a word with Medicine Wolf.”

“Sure.” Penny nodded. “We’re only here today because Ramona called us about trees and earth fae, and I’m doing interviews all afternoon.” She gave me a look. “Had it occurred to you that with you refusing interviews Caroline and I become the nearest anyone can get? How many ways can I answer _what’s it like to interview Ms Hauptman_ I ask you?”

I shrugged. “You have no obligation.”

“Oh yes I do, Mercy — it’s called an editor, plus station loyalty. PBS’s figures will hit a new record this week.”

“Glad to hear it, as to be of use.”

And I was. The memory of Penny pinching most of Fox’s viewers when dealing with Bostock was warm, and seeing PBS beat CNN would be almost as good. Ramona went to see them through the paparazzi, and with the garden clear of humans I let Medicine Wolf read me for a full update. It had already collected some excited reactions to Tuesday and Wednesday, so we talked Celilo Falls and campaign appearances, then got onto vamps. A threat I’d once offered Marsilia amused it, but the main thing was the probable speed of a hostile response. I knew it was guesswork but thought my instincts sound, and Stefan had agreed : maybe Bonarata would have the cool smarts to be unpredictable but the truly old tend to be creatures of strong habit, and if I got it half-way right he was going to be as off-balance as he’d been in a very long time, making SOP even more attractive. Medicine Wolf didn’t know vamps well enough to have a clear sense, but promised particular vigilance as well as agreeing to stop by Sunday to meet Wiseman. Then it gave me a long look, and I knew only I heard it.

_I do have one piece of news, Mercy, and though it must break soon I recognise timing might be very important for your campaign. I have been talking to my neighbour of the Mississippi Basin, and it is interested in what I have been doing. It does not mind boats, but dislikes pollution, as I do, and wonders about a trade for assistance with flood control._

The thunder in my head was the sound of the other, very large shoe dropping, thoughts tumbling with it. The Mississippi Basin drains all or part of thirty-two states and edges into Alberta and Saskatchewan. It does not have anything like the vertical fall of the Columbia, which is why the lower Mississippi looks even drunker than most meanders, but has way more total volume. And manitous were everyone’s business, not just mine.

“I cannot see why not, Medicine Wolf, and this should happen anyway, regardless of elections. I would be very happy to greet this great manitou, though, to discuss some policies I would want to pursue if elected.”

_Which ones?_

“Reforestation and bison migration. There is a lot of empty land in the western Mississippi Basin, and the plains bison once roamed.”

Medicine Wolf’s eyes … twinkled? _And again your first thoughts are of others, not yourself. I bet my neighbour that would be so, and it will be pleased with such a response, as I am. A greeting is sensible._ Its voice was laced with complex humour. _We were wondering what form would be most appropriate for its manifestation._

My mind boggled. “Um … Ol’ Manitou River, with dark skin?” Adam, Jesse, and I all knew and liked the song, so I didn’t try to explain _Show Boat_. “Or would it rather be on four legs?”

_Perhaps. Knowing of your concern and Elder Spirits’, we did wonder about a bison-form. But anything is possible. It is only magic, after all._

“Right.” I thought some more, and gave up, reverting to instinct. “It should do exactly what it wants, Medicine Wolf, but if it, or you, are asking about human politics, a dark-skinned older man would ring the loudest, most useful bells. A bison-form would be good, but the … national human meaning of the Mississippi is bound to our worst racial history. Fixing that is proving very tough, but the Mississippi Basin standing up and saying _Hi, folks, I am a great manitou of colour_ would give things a pretty interesting whack.”

 _Indeed._ Medicine Wolf looked amused and thoughtful. _This business of revealing ourselves to humans is new. First People always knew we were here, and we spoke from time to time. Second People never noticed us. I was deep among my rocks, but my neighbour was full awake, though it withdrew as the plains filled with cattle. They are boring._

I stored away _Second People_ with a coyote swirl of pleasure. “So I can imagine. Is it, um, more placid than you?”

_Not necessarily. But you are right my steeper fall makes me a little different, and we flow to very different seas. Does it matter?_

“Maybe. I was thinking that political effects would depend a lot on its, ah, performance. You’re a fifteen-foot dire wolf, and were seen to chew up that Yukon and eat Preskylovitch. A shy manitou of colour would not be so good. An old dark-skinned wise warrior-statesmanitou, though …”

Interest sharpened. _Ah yes, that I understand. It is your television, and the perceptions of those who watch but must be made to see. I recognise some of what you say from those of the Freed who are African-American, but are there others I might read to know more?_

“I can find some. Any citizen of colour knows _something_ of what African-Americans endured here, but only they truly know it. Many First People were murdered or corralled, but in North America a far smaller percentage were enslaved.” I thought again. “Jude Fisher would be a start, and he’ll be at dinner Sunday. And there are African-American wolves we should bring in on this anyway. It’s not something _I_ should be deciding.”

_Your scruple is proper, Mercy, but your instincts are sharp. I will be happy to read Jude Fisher, if he is willing, and there is no great hurry._

“Right. Does your neighbour have a name?”

_Not that you could speak. A name will come with the form, though Ol’ Manitou River may prove acceptable._

“Un huh. And, forgive me, are other manitous going to show up any time soon? Coyote said there were ones of the Colorado Basin and Great Lakes.”

_There are, but the manitou of the Great Lakes is very young and shy. The manitou of the Colorado Basin has withdrawn, because of the damming and reductive diversion of its waters, but I have been encouraging it to consider the Paths of Assertion and Mercy._

“And the fun never stops.” A thought arrived, hard. “Will the Cascadia ’quake affect it?”

_In some ways, though not to cause harm. It cannot help, being too far east, nor the manitou of the Sacramento Basin, being also yet a juvenile._

“OK. And further east? The Hudson?”

_You must ask my neighbour. I do not reach that far._

“Huh.” I thought New Yorkers deserved their own manitou, as well as Vanna the Troll, but Medicine Wolf wasn’t for pushing, and already being exceptionally open. “I’ll start warning some humans, very quietly, that the Mississippi Basin would like a word with Second People.”

 _Have fun._ Medicine Wolf managed to look bland, no mean feat for an oversize dire wolf. _You have done well by me, Mercy, and your aid in changing the ways of Second People is appreciated. But I should look in on the earth fae, and have business with Beaver up the Flathead. I will watch carefully for vampire movement, and come to your house Sunday._

“Thank you, Medicine Wolf, for everything.”

It vanished, and my eyes found Brent’s and wolves’, all looking poleaxed.

“A great manitou of the Mississippi Basin?”

“Apparently. Second People is going to have some mileage too, I’d bet.”

“You could say.” Brent whistled. “That’s another game-changer, Mercy, and how. When the levee breaks …”

“Un huh. Or preferably doesn’t, though who knows what re-engineering the lower Mississippi with manitou help will look like?” I shrugged. “Oh well. There’s no helping it and it spreads the load — thirty-two more states get their own manitou to make nice with. But, all of you, don’t tell anyone yet, please. I’ll talk to the Man tonight, Bran and ap Lugh sooner, and no doubt it’ll spread, but I don’t need a distraction just now.”

Brent grinned ruefully. “And I thought this job might be boring. I’ll be quite melancholic when the Secret Service takes over.”

I stuck out my tongue, and he laughed.

“Don’t count your chickens, Brent. Adam has ideas about integrating preternatural agents, and if you don’t figure in them I’ll be surprised.”

“I don’t mind that, Mercy. Are we heading home?”

“Yup. Time to run the gauntlet again.”

It took some doing, the crowd of paparazzi having swollen as word of the trees spread, and they were genuinely indignant. Even with a dozen Freed it took a while to clear the way and let Pirandella and Nuthatch dive in, and an angry shout about it being _so fucking unfair_ grated enough that I felt my eyes go golden and was turning before I’d realised it. I wasn’t wearing the cloak but rolled out enough power silence fell, and Manannán’s Bane rose to point straight at the offender.

“ _Unfair_ ? From a man who spends his life harassing people famous for being appallingly victimised, that is a truly bad joke. And as the trees came of their own accord, one more such vicious inanity from any of you and I will ask Gwyn ap Lugh to rule they count as full-blooded fae, whom you have just addressed.” I added dominance. “Go away, all of you, and look hard in a mirror. You gleefully insist that because you keep your grossly unethical behaviour borderline legal, there is nothing your victims can do. Wrong. Get used to it. And Ms Velasquez has some advice.”

I left her telling them flatly that if they climbed any trees they should expect to die, huorns not caring for orcs, and occupied myself asking the earth fae if trees were full-bloods — which neither could see why they shouldn’t be, self-propelling trees not being in the natural spectrum of flora Overhill. By the time we got home the clip had aired, and as I had to call ap Lugh to confirm arrival times I didn’t delay. Fortunately, he admired the threat and agreed huorns were covered by the Accords, pointing out that fielding one as a complainant would be trickier than not, though an oakman might be persuaded on one’s behalf. Ol’ Manitou River sat him up though, as it did Bran, but when Coyote drifted in it turned out Elder Spirits had been watching the inter-basin colloquy for a while.

“Isn’t it good to talk? And it’ll be a big help with bison migration.”

“Oh yeah. Reforestation, too. But there’s a question.”

I wanted his take on the effects of any manifestation’s shape and colour, and he listened while I basted legs of lamb with fragrant marinade. Coyote broke off from an interesting memory of contacts between First People and African Americans that confirmed Faulkner.

“If those are for Sunday, why are you doing that now?”

“Yoghurt marinades are slow, and cooking will be long, but the result will be meat you could carve with a wooden spoon, never mind a metal one.”

“Sounds good. Who taught you this one?”

“Supercook website. Wolves bolt it, so I can’t usually be bothered.”

“Typical. I’d promise to chew but it sounds like teeth won’t be needed.”

I gave him a look, and he grinned.

“Just savour it. Cooking time is most always longer than eating time, but three minutes of wolf yum for three days of work is irritating.”

“I bet. I’d get bored, though, waiting days to eat a rabbit. And hungry.”

“Yeah. Marinating on the range is a drag, but this is a good recipe. I need to change and talk to the cloak, Manannán’s Bane, and Carnwennan. Greet Gordon and others if they turn up? Ap Lugh and Bran are due at 5.”

“Leave it to me, deep-marinating daughter. Are there brownies?”

“In the tin. And no stealing any marinade.”

“If you say so. Coyotes aren’t big on yoghurt and herbs.”

“Speak for yourself.”

I left him laughing and depleting brownies, and went to brace myself for what I had to do next.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Everyone was assembled in Adam’s study by 5.30, in the flesh or on screen, and I was filled with a singing tension. Zee once told me the old German word for the feeling was _spannungsbogen_ , the quivering of a bow drawn with arrow nocked but not yet fired, and that was exactly right. Adam had maxed house security, with extra surveillance, wooden rounds issued, and Freed wolves joining our own, all grimly aware of danger. But the means I had to enrage and unbalance Bonarata were bound up with Coyote humour as well as hard facts, vamp blinkers, and the immense, egotistical pride of anyone who would seriously name himself Master of the Night — and I’d wanted everyone available half-an-hour beforehand to explain what I’d be doing, and why.

Adam knew, and if bitchslapping Bonarata sat wrong with his instinctive protectiveness, he had no doubts about the strategy. Bran was equally supportive, as were Ap Lugh, Nemane, and Elder Spirits. The time was for humans. Westfield and the Man had some appreciation I _was_ a coyote-girl, and meant it about changing rules, but others, civilian and military, did some instinctive balking. The Chair of the Joint Chiefs, interestingly, got it best, but others didn’t grasp the way genuine levity would sting Bonarata and, I hoped, snarl his thinking. To be fair, I wasn’t yet using any magic, which should up the sting nicely, gadfly to horsefly on steroids with hornets thrown in, but with coyote mischief kicking, however I was holding it back, I thought they were a sadly earnest bunch.

What everybody got fine was the hacking, under way with time dilation provided by Baba Yaga, and being monitored by Anna, on a separate screen which gave us realtime status reports. A good many billions had already been siphoned, and there was a plan to do something virally very nasty to a small private bank, so discreet it had only vamp customers and made large transfers that were bad news for anyone who preferred things like law and order, or equitable and transparent justice.

With 6 approaching I used my phone to call Medicine Wolf, leaving it listening in, and leant against the desk, flanked by Adam and Bran. Elder Spirits were on one side, all animal-headed, Gray Lords on the other, glowing power, and the system would put the Oval Office beyond them. On the big screen it was to one side, Anna below, and when I took a deep breath and hit the speed-dial the first thing that flashed up was a data-screen informing us we were connecting to a SMART Room System, the sort small businesses use for Skype meetings, and its encryption was junk, but when that cleared the image was of a stone-floored room I recognised and had hoped they’d use, in the basement of Marsilia’s seethe. She stood to one side, older vamps all around, glaring, and Wulfe was directly in front of camera, his body blocking a free-standing screen. I put names to faces for humans, all scanning hard.

“Wulfe, Marsilia.” I let an edge of scorn into my voice, willing my magics to ride the transmissions. “System seems low-end for you, Marsilia, and its security is piss poor next to Adam’s, so be aware any leaks are on you.”

Vamps don’t flush but her look was poisonous. I was more interested in Wulfe, voice as cold as I’d ever heard it.

“Mercedes, my protection of you for Wyoming does not extend to threatening the Mistress, nor the Master of the Night.”

“There’s a surprise. And atypically charming as it was of you to offer it, Wulfe, you and all vamps are presently in much greater need of my protection than I am of yours. You really need to upgrade your mindsets as well as your IT, you know. And you’re keeping people waiting.”

His eyes glittered, but a tenor voice speaking Italian from the screen behind him ordered him to stand aside, after a calculating second he did, and I almost laughed. A pretty blond vamp was seated on a chair that looked old and expensive, radiating unconcern, a bulkier figure looming in shadow behind him, and a gaunt wolf with mad eyes on one side. Pretty Boy glanced at me before his eyes flicked across the screen, and though I’d told Marsilia who’d be present he couldn’t help showing surprise.

“Explain yourself and the request to speak to me.”

I leant back against the desk. “No-one made any such request, Mr di Campo, and we’re not here to speak to a flunkey.” My gaze went to the looming figure. “Nor to Ms Yakovlevna. Perhaps you’d care to step forward, Mr Bonarata, so we can get underway.”

I doubted he could really have hoped to remain unrecognised, and after a moment he jerked a thumb. Pretty Boy stood fast, and Bonarata came forward. I almost laughed again, not at the gangster-thuggish face, Roman nose showing more than one old break, nor the genuine power I could sense through two screens, but the classic all-black Nosferatu get-up, Armani monochrome completed by a long cloak thrown back over one shoulder. He was looking as hard at me as I was at him.

“There you are, Mr Bonarata. I’m Mercy Hauptman.” I let my gaze rake him. “Nice cloak, for human tailoring. I would say thank you for attending on short notice, except we’ve been warning vampires for years your posture is unsustainable so it would be a rather empty courtesy.”

His voice was a deep bass, English slightly accented, and I could hear the anger he was controlling as well as the power he was trying to project, but it didn’t ride digital transmission very well.

“Your attitude and manners are unacceptable, Mrs Hauptman, and you will address me as Master of the Night.”

I gave a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Dream on, Mr Bonarata.” His face became stiller. “And a free warning — trying to give anyone here orders will get you nowhere fast. Now, to my left on Marsilia’s nice new system, my husband and mate, Adam Hauptman, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, seconding, to my right, the Marrok, speaking for all North American werewolves. Further right, Coyote, Thunderbird, Wolf, Bear, and Raven, representing Elder Spirits and Medicine Wolf, who hears. Further left, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh and Nemane, the Morrígan, representing Underhill and Gray Lords.” I was speaking a shade too slowly, as if he actually needed IDs. “Beyond them, representing the United States, the President, AED Westfield of the FBI, and the Directors of the FBI, CIA, Secret Service, and ATF, with the Chair and Deputy Chair of the Joint Chiefs.” Bonarata’s face was frozen, eyes scanning until I snapped them back to me. “And to keep this simple, I am empowered to speak for all.”

Humans, wolves, and fae said ‘Truth’ in chorus, Thunderbird and Raven snapped beaks, Coyote, Bear, and Wolf jaws. Bonarata’s eyes flicked around and came back, dark with anger and perhaps shock. I could hope.

“You have revealed us to humans.”

His voice held sheer disbelief, and I let my own shift to open contempt.

“No, you vamps did that all by yourselves, Mr Bonarata, with the major responsibility squarely on your own Roman head, by being consistently and carelessly hostile to other preternaturals, as to humans, while relying on Fae and Werewolves to clean up your messes and keep shtum. But it’s _basta_ time. The Federal Government knew there was at least one more major kind of preternatural still not out, and their guess about what was spot-on. Other North American preternaturals have stopped bothering to deny the obvious. And it’s not just senior humans, Mr Bonarata. You have six weeks from now to out yourselves, on your own terms, or we’ll do it for you. And whether you jump or stay stupid enough, in its strict sense, to have to be pushed, terms for permitting vampires to remain in North America are already set.”

I wanted to draw him out, so I stopped, cocking my head enquiringly, and waited out fifteen seconds of incredulous silence, watching him try to reassess me, before speaking again.

“Bat got your tongue, Mr Bonarata?”

I felt Adam’s spike of amusement, and saw Bonarata’s outrage before he tried for a conversational voice with menace underneath.

“You would seem to have lost your wits entirely, Mrs Hauptman. You do realise you are now a dead woman walking?”

“No, that would be you, Mr Bonarata. You talk the talk, by all accounts, but you haven’t been walking the walk at all. Didn’t any of those Borgias and whoever teach you that if you let problems grow and keep on shirking your responsibilities, things either blow up or fall down?”

His anger showed again. “I shirk nothing.”

He believed it, but the sting seemed to be getting through, so I gave him a knowing smile.

“Sure you don’t. That’s why you’re so very on top of the North American situation. Get real, Mr Bonarata, and stop making like an ostrich. Look around. The self-indulgent, needlessly murderous behaviour you allow vamps, and practice yourself, ignoring all costs and interests save your own, has the Gray Lords, Marrok, Elder Spirits, a great manitou, and the full might of the United States telling you flatly to your face you have six weeks to put your house in order for public inspection worldwide, or face concerted military, political, economic, and magical attack.”

I watched him concealing his scramble to rethink, pleased with the blindsiding it attested, until I saw his mouth open and promptly cut in.

“Now, being reasonable and ethically well brought-up fae, wolves, Elder Spirits, avatar, and humans, we don’t actually want to embark on genocide. However we’re tempted, and you’re all already dead, you are beings, and if you’ll behave reasonably we’ll live and let live, in your undead fashion. But you no longer have a choice about behaving reasonably, by which we mean, primarily, proper civil integration, plus no feeding on, mindgames with, and Turning of humans without informed and witnessed consent.” I switched out contempt for the rage I truly felt. “There is no need whatever for vamps to kill sheep as they do. It’s not even intentional half the time, just rank carelessness. It has to stop, and will, one way or another. How many happy vamp campers are involved, and how much old dust blowing in the wind, is up to you. And seeing as your track record of responsible decision-making for your kind is such a shining pismire, Mr Bonarata, that _you_ is plural.”

I turned slightly away from him, shifting my gaze to Marsilia, whose eyes had actually widened. Adam took out his phone and tapped it.

“Marsilia, you’ll find an email with three attachments in your inbox. One is the Code of Conduct to which all vamps remaining in the US must sign up. Other governments will probably adopt it, but that’ll be their business. Two is the deal the President is prepared to offer US vamps, which is generous and equitable. You’ll probably get a migraine and have to squint, because that’s equitable for sheep and humans in general as well as vamps, but still. Citizenship with its rights as well as duties can be yours, which is the best offer you’ll get from anyone this side of oblivion. And three is numbers and procedures for Registration Hotlines. Every vamp who wants to stay in the US needs to call ahead of the deadline, but Masters and Mistresses can act on behalf of seethes. Sheep will be medically checked but not removed, and monitored as vulnerable adults. On the upside, we have serious funding in place to help them, with any vamp who finds him- or herself all out of seethe funds, and there’ll be a lot of that about.”

More than one vamp was blinking, but I stayed focused on Marsilia.

“I know your relationship with Mr Bonarata is on the love-hate side, but I also think, despite your ghastly laugh and moral limitations, you understand as he does not that we are throwing you and all US vamps a lifeline, or undeathline, you desperately need. So we’ll give you in the Tri-Cities one week, starting now, to do some serious thinking and talking before we send those documents to all seethes. Bottom line, Marsilia? Vamps have taken European orders for 243 years longer than anyone else in this country, and that’s mostly why you now find yourselves right up the creek but sadly lacking paddles. Time to become Americans and start acting like it. Or go home.” I shrugged, cloak rippling. “Or be dismissed.”

Marsilia remained frozen, but I’d been aware of Bonarata’s heavy gaze, and saw his eyes flash before he spoke, voice still going for conversational but to my ears more than a little shocky underneath.

“Ah. An election ploy. Much becomes clearer. I would admire the scale of your ambition, Mrs Hauptman, were it not as foolish as unacceptable.” He poured on menace, but it really didn’t affect me. “You will shortly be dead, as painfully as I can contrive, and the rest of your addled alliance can hope I content myself with you. The President in particular can consider what many billions of dollars in hostile motion could do to the economy on which all political popularity rests.”

I rolled my eyes as I shifted to face him squarely. “Is that your best Blofeld imitation, Mr Bonarata? How disappointing. And wrong in every particular. It’s true my candidacy serves as a focus for allied action, but even if you offered a credible threat it would make no difference now. Do you truly suppose any being here would let me speak for them, to you, if honour was not engaged? I realise you have had none for what? seven centuries or so, I believe, and I’d think you were pretty short of it even as a human, but maybe that’s just the nose. Either way, Mr Bonarata, bluster and such style as you can manage won’t cut it any more. Against Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, and manitous, no individual vamp has ever stood a chance. Seethe against pack, and seethe loses, every time, whatever you’ve done to poor Lenka in your addiction.” I shook my head, glancing at the wolf and wondering how much she could understand. “Vamps’ only real power over humans has been secrecy, keeping it one-on-one. Against massed humans with Special Forces or SWAT, fire-hardened wooden harpoons, and wolf or fae backup, even the biggest seethe will rapidly be really inedible toast. Elder Spirits and avatars can find outlivers and loners too. You’re supposed to be a smart dead man, Mr Bonarata. Have you _still_ not realised you have comprehensively blown it? You ran straight at the banana-skin, boasting of invincible agility, and now find yourself arse over fang heading heart-first for a killing-field of stakes.” I poured scorn on top of rage. “Master of the Night? You think? If you’re really stupid enough to let this go past the wire, remember to look out for the Sluagh, indoors as well as out. And owls, with every nocturnal four-footer in Italy and beyond. You don’t rule the night, Mr Bonarata — you hide in it, strutting the while and never noticing the contradiction. But before we go, let’s come down to cases, because I’ll confess I’m curious about what passes for your thinking.”

I shifted against the desk, brief silence giving him an opening, and he jumped at it, still trying to convey menace.

“Do you wish to worsen your death?”

“Said the fly to the spider. But staying on topic, eighteen months ago our alliance rescued three vamps from Cantrip’s hellhole. There had been five, but Preskylovitch dismissed two by way of experiment. Although no preternatural involved had any obligation whatever to protect vamps, we made considerable efforts to keep the then _status quo_ , with substantial success. Specifically, we destroyed torture data on vamp vulnerabilities Cantrip had amassed. Marsilia, an accredited mistress, and her servant Wulfe the Sorcerer, with Stefan Uccello the Warrior, were of our grace granted time and opportunity to remove the prisoners before the FBI saw them, and data was purged of all reference to vamps. Your response was to say nothing but order the three prisoners dismissed. Or as the President’s already agreed dismissal should legally be murder, let’s call a spade a spade, and say murdered. Yes?”

I’d confused him several times over, and I _knew_ that with magical help from the cloak and Manannán’s Bane I was reading him in all sorts of ways he wasn’t reading me. He went for suave unconcern.

“Does it matter? Such stupidity as theirs cannot be let live. Nor yours.”

“I’d say try the mirror, Mr Bonarata, but I realise reflection’s not your strong suit.” I waved a hand. “Anyway, my question is about your political calculus in making that decision. What did you reckon as the cons?”

He frowned. “What cons? They disgraced themselves and by extension insulted me. It can be of no concern or import to other kinds.”

I registered his continuing belief, and took out the small change of amazement at his blindness with a shake of my head. “Oh can’t it? Try again, Mr Bonarata. You must have known who saved your dead bacon, and you’ve lived long enough you’re no innocent of fae and wolves, yet you chose to dishonour our freely offered grace, brooking no dissent, as if it were due tribute and yours to despoil. And now you choose to pretend witless ignorance of your offences to a gathering of incensed powers more than capable of exterminating you and your kind, yet offering more grace. Hardly your first, but surely your last warning, Mr Bonarata.”

I pulled on magic that had always been mine, letting all others I’d acquired sharpen its edges, willing it to reach Italy maximally. Despite everything I’d planned, his compliance would be the better course, and though I held a lot in reserve, I put real Alpha punch into my voice.

“Wise up, ghost.” He rocked back. “One way or another your affairs will be put in order. And Marsilia, Wulfe, you might want to stand away from the middle of the floor.”

When I’d first called Marsilia to tell her the great manitou of the Columbia Basin had woken, and she’d asked what concern of hers that was, I’d retorted that a volcanic eruption though her seethe during daylight ought to qualify as trouble even by her standards. At the time I’d said it because Guayota and the magma in manitou magic at Sacajawea State Park had been in my mind, but it turned out Medicine Wolf could indeed control magma. As a glaring but sprightly Wulfe swung a rigid Marsilia out of the central zone, and other vamps hastily shifted the screen, a strip of stone floor glowed and cracked open, gases bubbling out as a pillow of lava oozed up, coiling into bright shapes and cooling enough to stick in them, still glowing red streaked with dirty yellows and whites.

**B O O !**

Medicine Wolf had cheerfully told me more than I wanted to know about factors that made any given magma do what it did — fluidity or stickiness, density, residual magnetism as it cooled if metals were present — and judged things to a T. The stark warning sat on the vamps’ ruined floor, even Bonarata staring incredulously while those in the room pressed back against walls. I felt Coyote’s laughter, and my magic-laden voice carved silence, carrying its left-hand stings.

“I wouldn’t assume any limitation to the Columbia Basin, Mr Bonarata. There are _genii loci_ in Europe too, including volcanic ones, and the careless mindgames of which you vamps think nothing really offend them, as they do all of us. They sense translocating vamps too. You have royally screwed up, and now have exactly one chance, for yourself and your kind. Given the way you’ve ruled — relying on partial immunity to magic, fear, financial clout, and overworked maker and feeding ties — it’d be easier just to dismiss you, but as we _are_ ethical we truly hope you are smart enough to take it. Having met you, though, it’s far more hope than expectation, so I repeat that the offer goes to all, individually as collectively, and is made in all honour. Comply and survive, even prosper. Refuse and be dismissed, or if non-translocators, and very lucky, held in full stasis on a starvation diet until you acquire common sense. Time’s up, powers you cannot defy are moving against you, and land borders are closed to you. Welcome to the last chance saloon, where compliance is your only way out. Marsilia, my thanks for facilitation, and when you decide you want to save your seethe from oblivion feel free to call. I understand history makes it awkward for you, but for my money Mr Bonarata’s studliness several centuries back isn’t worth squat when the alternative is oblivion. Your business. And one last caution. I’ll take your call, but if any vamp turns up here unannounced he or she is dust. And we’re done. Farewell, Mr Bonarata, from all here, and though I doubt you will we’ll hope you see the light.”

I left it long enough to see the flicker of confusion as he negotiated grammar to hit ambiguity, and cut the connection. Elder Spirits promptly morphed human, Coyote’s laughter exploding and Wolf grinning, but I ignored them, stepping for a long moment into the welcome circle of Adam’s arms as the cloak rustled, wafting roses. I heard Anna report the total take was 161 billion and change, and the bank’s servers had crashed, though only time would tell how much damage the virus had done, and reluctantly turned to face everyone again. The humans were showing the shock they’d been holding back.

“Assessments?” I glanced at the Man. “I’d like to deal with the magical side first, sir. Gwyn ap Lugh?”

He nodded. “That was well done, Mercedes. You had him off-balance from the first, and planted barbs and disinformation with sure skill.”

Nemane nodded, giving what was for her quite the smile. “The Sluagh and owls, yet. Reflection was a nice touch, but he can’t be stupid enough to think you don’t know. Can he?”

“Pass. I’m just playing the odds, Nemane. Coyotes do.”

“You needn’t remind me.

The Man frowned. “Can you explain, Ms Hauptman?”

“You know the legend that vampires have no reflections, sir?”

“Only from briefings, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s in Bram Stoker, and elsewhere. Point is, it’s rubbish. They reflect just fine, as anyone who deals with them knows, so speaking as if I believed a vulgar myth, while showing knowledge of things vamp I should really not have, will leave him with contradictions to sort out. Might just be chaff on his radar, but could be a spanner in his works.”

“Ah. And the other disinformation?”

“The harpoons, sir, and the repeated implication we don’t know about his putative resistance to staking” The Chair of the Joint Chiefs had eyes on me, and I nodded. “Other emphases and ordering of words. Having us all here but saying nothing. And that unbelievable magma, unless Ms Hauptman really does have European manitous on board.”

I gave him a smile. “I don’t, sir, and yes, misdirection was one layer of the magma joke, but it was mostly about helping Wulfe and Marsilia. Which is ridiculous, as I can’t stand either, but a clear lead from her seethe is our best bet for keeping the undeath toll nationwide as low as possible. It won’t happen yet, and there will be at least one attack, but the magma will rattle them badly, so once the attack fails, with its inevitable purge, Wulfe should get more co-operation.”

“It’s the mismatch, military man.” Coyote’s voice was bubbling glee. “To have the power to erupt through their floor, and use it to say _Boo!_ A joke that shouts we’re not joking, when bloodsuckers have problems reading humour anyway. I’m really quite proud of you, daughter. All that scorn was _very_ nicely weighted as well, and your cloak can label me impressed.”

“Huh.” I belatedly offered the cloak thanks, and Manannán’s Bane, ignoring human stares. “Bran, my sense was that I was getting through to the seethe fine, and some power was making it to Italy. Yes?”

His gaze rested on me, heavy with power but tinged with pleasure. “Most, I think. The cloak is magnifying oddities of magic around you. You had told it of your intent to provoke and unsettle?”

“Oh yes.”

“It did a good job, then. And I must confess my satisfaction in hearing Bonarata spoken to so dismissively. A shining pismire?”

“And arse over fang.” Adam gave me rueful smile.

I shrugged. “Sorry about the crudity, Adam, but I thought it would be an extra distraction just before the killing field of stakes.”

“And it was. Magic followed intent, Mercy.” Gwyn ap Lugh gave me a nod. “I share the Marrok’s pleasure. Bonarata’s confusion at your shifting registers and consistent contempt was clear. And though few things ever go to plan, yours now has a better chance than most, I deem.”

“Let’s hope so, Gwyn ap Lugh.” I found the human face that most mattered to me. “AED, thoughts?”

He blew out a breath. “Many, Ms Hauptman, starting with the fact that my understanding of vampires as extremely frightening and recalibrating for Mercy have just expanded exponentially. Bonarata is a fearsome creature, and I can’t say I liked the looks of Wulfe or Marsilia either. Nor di Campo. But I am frankly astonished by your performance. I have seen enough of you, in very adverse conditions, to know you rarely speak of anything with true contempt, yet I have never heard such derision, nor seen someone of such evident power repeatedly tapped off-balance and sucker-punched. I cannot say what Italy heard, but your cloak’s magnification was sharply evident here, to my ears at least.”

Others around the Oval Office agreed, but no-one interrupted Westfield, who started raising fingers.

“Besides the information and disinformation, and body blows to his ego, to fixate him on you despite our joint presence, you deliberately sold yourself as over-confident, didn’t you?”

“I did, AED. It’s what he’d think anyway, and salting the mine means, I hope, he will kneejerk into SOP despite having his worldview whacked. I need him to commit, so I can throw him using his own weight.”

“So what _should_ he do, Ms Hauptman?” It was the Chair, frowning concentration. “Wouldn’t he be coming at you anyway?”

“It’s how, sir. What he should do is recognise vamps are gonna be out in six weeks max, no matter what, and cut his losses or step up to that plate. He’ll stand a far better chance of getting me if he waits six months and pays a human assassin than he will snapping orders at his inner cadre.”

“Ah. I must agree with the AED. Bonarata is frightening, and that was an astonishing performance. And very courageous.”

“True, Admiral, but Mercy has her own scale of danger.” Bran gave me a look. “And for all she insists on vamps’ rights, I am reminded that her vengeance is legend. Your beef with Bonarata is Stefan?”

“Mostly, Bran. The poor damn sheep, too. Payback for Gauntlet-boy, Blackwood, and the rest of them. Jesse’s owed. And Adam. Lots of people.” I faced it. “Plus, call me crazy, but those vamps from the mine really stick in my craw. None of the other Freed liked them at all, and maybe they deserved dismissal, but I helped rescue them and Bonarata had them killed. He made it personal.”

“Ah. I wondered when you used their fate as you did. Well enough.” Bran’s gaze swung. “What matters, gentlebeings, is that Mercy’s wild talent for very effective revenge is close to the heart of her coyote nature, and its … twining within our strategy is magically good. Extra sinews, moving more muscle, if you like. But we must allow for it, and her success. Bonarata, enraged and shaken after that tongue-lashing, will very shortly know of the hacking, compounding both. I would expect a first attack very much sooner than later.” He looked at Wiseman and the AED. “Bodyguards with you Sunday should pack wood, Mr Director.”

Westfield nodded. “We’re using an FBI jet and they will be, Marrok.”

“My people on every human here already are.” The Director of the Secret Service was wary of me, but seemed less so of Bran. His mistake. “All also have blades.”

“Good.” Bran gave me another look. “Mercy, do you think Bonarata will believe you about manitous sensing translocation?”

“He should. It’s true — when little spots of undeadness appear in its ecosystems, it knows. But who knows whether he’ll believe it enough to be put off translocating into the Basin. You heard him — his blinkers are every bit as thick as you thought.”

“Yes.” Bran nodded. “Habit has narrowed him badly. May I ask for your assessment, Mr President?”

“I’ve agreed with everyone so far, Marrok, but most with the AED. The risk Ms Hauptman is running, on all our behalves, and the sheer guts she’s showing, just got real on me. So the first thing I’ll say, more for ears in this office than in Kennewick, is that if any of you had doubts, you’ve just seen why I think she can do my present job. The second, having seen and heard vampires, however briefly, is that _orcs_ was right, and whatever vamp citizens we end up with will be watched very hard indeed for a good long while. Give a chunk of that money we’ve grabbed to the Farouts, AED, because they’re gonna need numbers. Marrok, wolves would be good. Mr Hauptman, might Mr Christiansen accept a retainer for helping out, between anything more urgent? It’s rescue work of a sort.”

Adam nodded. “He might, sir. Shall I ask?”

“Please. And the same for any citizen full- or half-blooded fae, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, Nemane, if you will and that is possible. I find that while I agree with Ms Hauptman about genocide, I share the visceral distaste I’m told you and avatars have for the Undead. The Farouts are not going to need heavy enforcement capability with Fae, Wolves, or Elder Spirits and avatars, but they are with signed-up vamps, so any preternatural help will make more than me very glad.” He suddenly stopped and looked at me hard. “And you saw that coming a mile off, didn’t you, Ms Hauptman? Well before you set up Sunday with Director Wiseman and the AED.”

I opted for honesty. “Yes, sir, I did. No offence, but it’s only visiting Underhill, Part 2. I’d never seen or heard Bonarata before tonight, but I know enough orcs to know Sauron the super orc had to be really grim news. And he was always going to be projecting all the threat he could. I couldn’t know how much you’d feel via encrypted transmissions, but I could hope. And it no longer surprises me that you have responded exactly as a sane and well-informed president should.”

An indignant look faded into concealed pleasure, and after a moment he shook his head. “It’s the AED’s line, again, Ms Hauptman. _You continue to surprise and impress._ And flatter. Whatever will you do next?”

“Ask me tomorrow, sir.

“Right.” The Man sighed. “Continuing. What do I know about vampires? But I know something about people and power, and I’d tentatively agree that Bonarata, blindsided and flicked so sharply on the raw, will kneejerk SOP. In his shoes, I’d have to work very hard not to do that. But I wonder who else was listening at his end, and how they might react. Will they all be doing only as ordered?”

Ap Lugh shrugged. “Probably, as things are. When any mis-step is final death, caution rules. The contempt Mercedes poured on will make any minion he despatches desperate not to fail but won’t encourage initiative.”

“But there is a distinction between Italy and here.” I was coming down from the adrenalin high. “Proximity makes rebellion impossible. Vamps on this continent, though, all know there’s a distance between his talk and his walk, don’t have proximity whatever the ties, and Wulfe will have been working on them. The problem is tipping them into open defiance, and that’s a parameter I built in from the first. I told Marsilia we wouldn’t send documents to seethes for a week. I didn’t say they might not know what’s coming. Preternatural word is going out about ultimatum, Borrowed Warchest, and offer of citizenship for compliance. Some choice detail will be sprinkled in. Pressure is building. Knowledge of forces in training will leak, but on full moon seethes should know they are being watched hard.”

I was looking at Westfield , who nodded.

“Good. But we’re close to the limit of what I’ll say today, and I need space, soon. So do others. We’ve done technology. The next bit’s down to magic, and we need to get on with waiting. AED, you’re in charge. Anything you need to ask right now?”

Westfield thought. “I don’t believe so, Ms Hauptman. We agreed a week ago that pulling the trigger is your call, and protocols are in place. I’ll be seeing you Sunday, and all here have plenty to ponder. Given what the Marrok said, I would ask all elements of task forces, human and preternatural, to move to DefCon Two. We’d like and expect training time, but are ready to roll if needed. And there are Special Forces on tap in the Tri-Cities if Mr or Ms Hauptman need them.”

“Agreed.” The Man nodded. “DefCon Two all round. Don’t hesitate to call on Special Forces, Ms Hauptman, Mr Hauptman. You have backup. Anyone have anything else?”

No-one seemed to.

“Thank you, Mr President, and we won’t, though magic must answer magic. But there is something I’d like to give you a heads-up about, privately, if we’re done with vamps.”

“Privately? Oh Lord.”

“Everyone here can know, sir. I just thought you’d want lead time.”

“Huh.” His eyes narrowed. “Preternatural or electoral?”

“Preternatural, though it may impact. There’s a question attached.”

Narrowed became closed for a second. “I shall doubtless regret this, Ms Hauptman, but spill. Please.”

I gave him a cheerful grin as my coyote laughed. “At once, Mr President. Medicine Wolf asks me to tell you the Great Manitou of the Mississippi Basin would like a word with Second People about pollution and flood control. Thirty-two states and two Canadian provinces will be interested. The question is what shape and name its manifestation should have. My first contender is a wise old warrior called Ol’ Manitou River, but we’d appreciate suggestions and political analysis.”

The deep silence was broken by Coyote’s admiring laugh.

“I told you all she drops people right in it. Atta-not-exactly-daughter sounds silly, but you know what I mean.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

I’d kept Saturday free because I really did want down time, but I’d known there were bound to be loose ends needing attention. I hadn’t known a Mississippi manitou would be among them, but it joined a list that began with the proper workout I hadn’t been able to fit in yesterday. Adam and I, with Brent and Jesse, also put in a range session, getting muscles used to the fractional difference lighter wooden bullets made to the kick of Glocks. It wasn’t a problem with a first shot, but for an immediate second allowance had to be made, and when we were done Adam went to make sure others appreciated that, while I checked on matters earth fae — all was well with old and, I was assured, new — then made an encrypted call. The AED had promised Leslie would see the recording of last night, and I fielded guarded congratulations covering real shock.

“AED was shaken hard, Mercy, and so was I. Sauron the super orc was spot on, but you didn’t bat an eyelid.”

“Huh. Bonarata’s power was getting to you from the recording?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Can you describe it, as you felt it?”

“Urgh. Maybe. There was straight menace, like pressure. Walking into a strong wind, maybe. But also …” She flushed a little. “Out with it, girl. It was sexual, Mercy. I talked to the AED about it, a little, and it wasn’t for him. But for me it was like the sort of jerk who’s absolutely sure he’s gonna have you naked and helpless whatever you want, and tells you so, amused by your refusal. I wanted to shower afterwards, and how you shrugged it off so easily I have no idea, unless it was the cloak.”

“Huh. That’s just an oversize version of vamp seduction. _You want me, in every way, little human._ ” I shrugged. “Girl vamps do it too. It’s always bounced right off me, as wolf dominance does. Were you tempted?”

“God, no. I’d as soon shimmy out of my dress for a rabid alligator.”

“Yeah. Question is, though, was it not working for him because of technology in the way, or for some other reason? Vamps in person …” I tried to find words. “I said they bounce off me, and they do, except Stefan a little, for complicated reasons, and I trust him. Mostly. But I’ve seen it work on humans, and I can see why. Can’t speak for guys, but for women, well, you know that joke about the old man who gets all the women he wants just by licking his eyebrows?”

She stared. “No, but I can imagine it. And yeah, some of that. Bonarata’s cold, but he wanted me thinking … or you thinking, about heat.”

“Right. But not cold in every way, I sincerely hope, because I want him running hot and dry, liable to jam. Did the AED explain why I was deliberately riling him and making seeming newbie mistakes?”

“Un huh. I’m still processing. And I agree with him and the Chair of the Joint Chiefs about guts, Mercy. The AED said you impressed the living hell out of every human who heard you, and you can add me to that list. You nailed them as well as Bonarata. But I’ll stop embarrassing you. Tell me what you can about Marsilia and Wulfe?”

That was reasonable, so I did, before she gave Jude and Jenna a shout while I collected Jesse, and we settled to the manitou question. Jude had been born in Chicago, where he and Leslie met, but his parents were from the Mississippi Delta, and when I’d said the national human meaning of the Mississippi was bound to our worst racial history I hadn’t meant only the startling fertility of the Delta’s double flood-plain, or what that plus the cotton gin had meant for Africans stolen to work its dense plantations, but also the massive internal migration that had followed the river north. Some of the millions of nominally free but violently Jim-Crowed African Americans who’d flowed out of the south in the second quarter of the twentieth century stopped in Memphis or St Louis and East St Louis, and a few went all the way to the Twin Cities, but most who headed north branched off through Peoria to Chicago, creating its notorious South Side. And as the Blues had gone with them, and electric, the South Side continued to tell us that even with the laws and city ordinances of Jim Crow banished into history its realities and effects did more than linger.

Jude and Jenna might be excluded from Leslie’s work, but there had been media discussion of possible manitous, and both took the Mississippi Basin wanting a word in their strides. Having a voice in the form it might take was another matter, and I’ll confess to butterflies, because even with friendship and goodwill racial history is a raw topic. But they appreciated my asking advice because I knew to my bones that however I was a half-Blackfeet coyote-girl who knew about bigotry first-hand, I was not African-American and would not presume to speak for those who were. Jude leaned back, and spread large hands.

“I don’t often feel inadequate, Mercy, but I don’t usually try to think on the scale you manage, and you do ask quite the questions.”

“Doesn’t she, Dad?” Jenna was wide-eyed. “How big would an Ol’ Manitou River be, Mercy?”

“As big as it wanted, Jenna. I was thinking Medicine-Wolf-size, even in human form, because unanswerably big induces respect from the start.”

“You have that right.” Jude grinned at Leslie, who grinned back. “Been a while since I was knee-high to anything on two legs.”

“So we’re talking what amounts to a black superhero.” Jenna laughed. “A fifteen-foot real black superhero. Marvel and DC can go whistle.”

“There’s that, but one caution. Dark-complected, I thought, yes, but manitou aren’t for any one group — they are all their ecosystems — and while I don’t much care about Anglo sensibilities there are a lot of First People in the Mississippi Basin who’ve been there a long while. And this manitou will also be very important in re-establishing bison migration.”

“Right. Sorry.” She nodded. “But an oversize superhero of serious colour is just as good. We can do _lots_ of stuff with that, Jesse.”

“You bet. We’ll have to see what it’s willing to do, but Mom says Medicine Wolf spoke well of it. And I know my experiences as a wolf’s daughter don’t stack up against yours, but if the name of the game is messing positively with people’s heads, and Gramps is involved …” She turned to look at me. “I’ve been wondering how much it matters who this manitou reads first. You said Medicine Wolf wants number one to be you, which has to be right, but numbers two to whatever? If there were African Americans among them, would it induce a … I don’t want to say bias, as we want shot of those, but a helpful perspective, maybe?”

“I’d think so, Jesse. And Leslie, Jude, Jenna, Medicine Wolf was wanting to read more African Americans, to get perspective to offer its neighbour, so I ask you all if you’re willing to be read Sunday, and for suggestions as to who else would be good for it.” My brain was spinning. “That will have to happen here, but suppose people were from the length of the Mississippi and its major tributaries, New Orleans to Chicago, Pittsburgh to Denver, and connected to the river, its living force and importance as well as its history, racial and otherwise. I can subsidise transport as necessary.”

Jude’s face lit up. “That sounds good, Mercy, and I know or can get to people in quite a few places. That would be a good mix for meeting this new manitou as well — a sign of respect, no?”

“Un huh.” I thought some more. “St Louis, maybe, by that arch. I’d need to include governors and preternaturals will want to show respect.” He nodded. “But I would surely like a parade of African Americans proudly stepping up, and that would hit a lot of buttons.” Another idea curled. “One other parameter, maybe — people who really know their Blues, old and new, and a genuine musician or three? I have no idea if Ol’ Manitou River could take knowledge of how to play from their heads, or if its magic will run to a guitar, but the idea of it doing ‘Steady Rolling Man’ or ‘Come On in My Kitchen’ seems pretty good just now.”

Jude and Leslie stared, but Jenna laughed and so did Jesse.

“’Freedom Song’.”

“Oh yeah. And some Soul.”

I shook my head, not in denial. “We’ll see, ex-kiddos. Don’t try to run before you can walk.”

“Right.” Jesse nodded, grinning. “But you’re popping what seem to me very good ideas, Mom.” Her gaze shifted. “I know you’re already on board, Mr Fisher, but it’s a pure example of what I call Mom being left-field awesome. If she’d said make it a giant bison or ten-ton catfish, because we need to talk ecology, no-one could complain. But no, it’s _How can we use this to go on making things better for everyone?._ I’ve got to the point of expecting it, and it still blows me away every time.”

Jude’s smile was gorgeous and encompassed us both.

“Don’t think a ten-ton catfish would work too well, Jesse — it just makes me think of a really large barbecue. Catfish are good eating. But I hear you. Will this all happen before November, Mercy?”

“My call. I can see the political boost, but no great manitou should be a prop and it matters a great deal more than my being elected.”

“Huh. Points. But maybe not the last. If we want New Orleans free of flood risk, or just levees that don’t favour white wards when they fail” — this smile was sharp enough to cut — “I know who I want talking to this manitou, and it ain’t anyone else running for president. Besides, you’ve got about ninety percent of the Black vote stitched, so don’t think of it as fast business on the campaign trail. It’s just beginning to deliver early on electoral promises.”

“Good one, love.” Leslie dropped a hand on Jude’s arm and nodded at me. “An earnest, Mercy. Not that one’s needed — you have that vote and others because you have already delivered for every minority — but you’re you, and always go the extra mile. The timing might seem ethically unfortunate, because you have more scruples than anyone else I’ve ever seen who wields anything like your power, but I’d file under synergy. So would Medicine Wolf, I bet.”

I didn’t disagree, though the rest embarrassed me. But Great Manitous did what they wanted, and if Medicine Wolf offered a choice about another one coming out, that other one had already agreed.

“Don’t be sure about scruples, Leslie. I may not bag the Prime Directive as easily or often as Kirk, but you know I’ve done it all the same.” In this company I couldn’t yet say more about setting up Bonarata and a bunch of his and Marsilia’s minions, but hoped she understood. “On the rest, though, maybe.”

“Don’t fret it. Uhura kissed Kirk silly even if it did take alien influence.”

I laughed and left them to start calling people, alarmed Adam with a summary report, and dragged him upstairs to take out the small change. When we were done, loosely holding one another, we caught each other up. I learned things various Directors had had to say, confirming the AED’s take, with a Pentagon request that amused me, and told Adam about represent-the-length-and-breadth-of-the-Mississippi-Basin, making him rest his head on my shoulder.

“Hey!” I tapped his butt, happily within reach. “At least Jesse and Jenna haven’t got on to a rapping Ol’ Manitou River yet. Though while we’re about it, a Troll Grunge band might have some mileage.” He hunched deeper into my shoulder, but I could tell he was smiling, and kissed the top of his head. “Don’t fret, love. Irpa likes swing, so we can have them do a retro evening, and get some proper dancing in.”

When he raised his head to stare at me the smile was still there.

“Only you, love.”

“Un huh. And here’s another.”

“Uh oh.”

“Try un huh. When Jesse proposed that intranet, it occurred to me I feel about her and media the way you feel about her and boys. But she knows how to deal, and I’m trying to recalibrate. How are you with that?”

He sighed, and rolled onto his back. “Trying, love. I know it’ll happen soon. You were right about ex-kiddo, no matter how much I want to lock her away from anything with a … different plumbing.”

“I believe you could say _dick_ to me without breaking anything, love.”

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t be proud of it.”

“You’re so sweet, sometimes.”

“Honourable men do not talk about dicks to their wives.”

“Just show, not tell, then?”

“Low blow.”

“And your point is?”

“I have no idea. Except I’m her dad.”

“Yup. Which means letting go, as well as holding fast. Tricky, isn’t it?”

“You could say. Any reason you’re asking me about this now?”

“Not of the plumbing variety. It was hearing Jesse and Jenna be so very ex-kiddos. And seeing Jenna coping made me think about how much Jesse’s coped, and how well. Even for you, love, being squicked by it, the upside is that Jesse will have someone to hold her when nightmares call.”

“Werewolves do not get squicked.”

“Right.”

“Damn right.” Adam sighed again. “But I hear you.” He turned to face me, and I rolled my head on the pillow. “Christy been bothering you at all?”

“Nope. Silence in that department. And if she ever says anything to me about Jesse and those of the other-plumbing persuasion I’ll have Skuffles bite her butt.”

A slow smile spread on his face. “You would, too. And I never have properly thanked you for easing Jesse through understanding just how messed up her mom can be.”

He had, several times, but I was happy to have him do so again, if barely able to move afterwards. He wrapped heavy, warm arms around me.

“How scared are you, truly, love?”

“Spitless.” I snuggled in. “I talked about it a bit with Leslie. She felt Bonarata’s would-be seductiveness as well as menace, but it made her recoil. Slid past me like dominance. But the … egofury? Resentful loathing of … interruption, anyway, was …” I turned words. “Smirching. Like another mechanic deliberately wiping fingers on you.”

Adam considered me. “I get that. So he made it personal some more, and that eases your honourable but silly guilt about setting him up, at great personal risk. But less than it should, because you played him like a banjo and that sits wrong too, despite everything.”

I swallowed. “More or less. I am sorry I’m so ridiculous, and so glad you get me even so.”

“Not ridiculous, love. And back atcha.” He swallowed too. “Christy never saw past my surface to what it holds in, as well as hides.” He closed his eyes before opening them wide and looking right through me. “We haven’t talked about your immortality. Do you have any idea how exultant I am?”

“Some, but it raises the … potential cost of risks we run. Asks a hard question or nine about Jesse, too.”

“Oh yeah. But I knew about that one. Didn’t know about the chance _we_ have, if we avoid getting killed.” Something settled in his eyes. “This is long-shot territory, but Bran dangled being a former president in front of you, and I’ve been wondering why there aren’t more ex-Alphas.” I blinked before raising an eyebrow. “More wolves are getting older. Leading a pack is good, but also a chore, and in time more of a bore, while seconds and thirds are getting older too. Plus Bran needs more support, and that’s going to be urgent if you win, which I always thought you could and now think you will. If we don’t all die.”

“If, yeah. How are _you_ with Bonarata?”

“Conflicted. Half of me wants to gibber, the other half to strut around asking if everyone gets just how superbly tough my woman is.”

“No tougher than my man.” We kissed. “And the third half?”

“On the fence.” He grinned at me, nerves showing in his underlying tautness. “Like you, love, I will only find ease when Bonarata is dust, and maybe not then. But I feel more confident. Last night, you were on script throughout and he didn’t know what was hitting him. Nor did anyone, except maybe Wulfe. I agree with ap Lugh you raised the chances of it working out, so this battle-plan has survived contact with the enemy.”

“Huh. Who said that?”

“Von Moltke. Proper translation’s wordier, but comes down to _No Battle Plan survives Contact with the Enemy._ But this one might.”

“Not only mine. Coyotes scavenge, and I’ve done a bunch of that.”

“Even so, love. You put it together, and are making it work. Bonarata was face to face with Bran, ap Lugh, Nemane, Elder Spirits, and the President plus top execs, and from five seconds in didn’t even think about speaking to anyone other than you even though you sold him a pup. Which for my money is gonna cost him everything a lot sooner than he’s ever dreamed possible.”

“We can hope.”

“With increasingly good reason, love. And if anything suggests he’s actually getting smart, Plan B will kick in.”

“Yeah.” Plan B involved greater risk to a lot of Italian wolves, including one Anna had met and liked, so I was really hoping not to go there, however its existence was a comfort. “Spreading the risk doesn’t help my heart much, though.”

“Can’t say it doesn’t help mine some, however I cut it. But it’s already dark, and if you’re willing to skip dinner, how about sleeping hard? We’ll need it, even if it makes us greedy at pack breakfast tomorrow.”

That was true, and after a brief consultation with my stomach, which I won, I fell asleep in Adam’s arms, and had sweeter dreams than I’d enjoyed the night before.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

After I’d set lamb cooking and fried a mountain of bacon and sausages for the pack, we did pig out at breakfast, feeling rested as well as starving, and the combined sugar and protein rush got me through massed Sunday papers. As I hadn’t said anything else in public since Wednesday, my snap at paparazzi was widely discussed, which meant getting into the Freed’s huorns and earth fae, and the contrast between fellow preternatural ex-prisoners repaying kindness with kindness and grossly unethical human ghoulishness generated real discomfort. I was interested by op-eds wondering what it might mean to have a president who reacted fast to outrage, and linking the Man’s endorsement to his forced experience of doing so with Cantrip. Coyote’s delighted comments about my putative candidacy on behalf of Elder Spirits, and ap Lugh’s careful but equally positive welcome on behalf of Gray Lords, had with ever-growing numbers on websites tipped gawping at crowd-sourced funding and candidates into excited discussion of a new political model — but what wasn’t there, though enough elected representatives had been asked to comment, was anything substantive from any of them. Tight-lipped spokespeople for main parties said matters were being carefully considered, though there had been a pained observation from a senator that however the Man had broken ranks, expelling him while in office did not seem wise.

SAGE stuff was also strongly positive, and claims by the NRA about using assault rifles for rapid target shooting were slammed by vets who mentioned Adam’s video with strong approval, and post-Parkland ex-kiddos. Several of the latter had given interesting interviews about conflicts Jesse had reported, wondering about stricter exclusion zones around schools — or just better-enforced ones, with magical as well as human vigilance, and I passed them to Jesse.

“I appreciate constructive thinking, and hats off to it, but that would be a whole lot of magic needing regular renewal. All schools is not possible, though if there was a known higher-risk case something short-term might be on. Human enforcement could kick up, meaning more prosecutions for infringement of school zones, with forfeiture of weapons. Beyond a hard clampdown on rapid-fire weapons, and maybe a compulsory buy-back, what _could_ be done more widely, though it’d take time, is trees to make recon harder, though that won’t help if the shooter’s from the student body, and scenting on entry for metal, which will. Trained dogs, wolf or other preternatural parents, where available. Reinforce the perimeter while we work on the threat environment. Talk to Joel about breeding and training? And ask on social media about school fundraisers for buying dogs?”

Jesse made notes, and nodded. “I do warn magic has to be practical, but it’s hard to see parameters when you’re not used to it. But dogs are good, and knowing how to behave with large ones would transfer to Preternatural 101. And wolf and fae or half-fae parents.”

“Good points.”

Adam and the pack thought so too, including Joel and Lucia, who had things to say about what high-school graduates should know about animals of all kinds and sizes, talking and otherwise. That opened up the curriculum and methods of a compulsory Preternatural 101, and discussion was lively. I threw a senior-year camping trip to one of my new magical forests into the mix, regretting there weren’t sasquatches to introduce them to but wondering what other encounters might be possible, and it got livelier. Needing to head to church Adam and I left them to it, with Jesse composing a long memo for Frank, though not before she’d urged me to address the post-Parkland dilemma in the second broadcast. Adam gave me a sidelong look as we went upstairs.

“They’ll be voters when you’re up for re-election, love.”

I gave him an appalled look. “That is _so_ not the point.”

“Isn’t it? Ex-kiddos doing Preternatural 101 are going to be happy campers, if they don’t get eaten. And mixing Wildlife 101 in is an interesting tactic. Maybe it should be Others 101.”

“Oh!” This look was a lot warmer. “I like that a lot. Ask Jesse?”

He agreed, and as he changed faster than me went to do so while I was considering my expanded wardrobe with mixed pleasure and resentment. I didn’t mind dressing up for occasions, but I’d always been a jeans-and-tee girl for solid reasons, and having to co-ordinate things that didn’t really matter bored me. But I had rep to uphold, and I’d done some brainstorming with Jesse and friends, plus Andrea and Jenny, before spending a silly amount of money. Accessories I had covered, and chose a Seminole patchwork skirt that would take Carnwennan’s belt with a coppery silk blouse that picked up its muted earth-tones. Adam wanted me in the cloak in public, and as it was less bored by colour co-ordination was experimenting with shifting hues to avoid clashes. I knew better than to interfere, but got some looks when I breezed back downstairs.

There were more at church. The media mob was large and loud, and Adam and I ignored them this week, saving a polite wave, but arriving congregants were a little breathless from the noise and seeing four-legged wolves on the door. I knew Reverend Jackson had done some posting about my (probable) campaign, security, and attendance, but for all the stares no-one had anything to say until a flushed Mrs Wright came in with her husband, adjusted his hearing-aid and her own, and beamed.

“Ms Hauptman. What a gorgeous outfit. And your lovely cloak matching it.” I rose to hold her proffered hand. “Aren’t they noisy out there? We had to turn our hearing-aids down. But it’s so exciting I suppose we shouldn’t blame them too much. You must be thrilled.”

I couldn’t help the irony in my voice though I gave a smile she deserved. “Among other things, Mrs Wright. Mr Wright.” He gave a cheerful nod, murmuring my name. “It’s humbling and terrifying. But I am very happy about the state assemblies’ joint bill, and especially Celilo Falls.”

“Oh yes. You spoke so well. And your father popping up like that! _What she said_.” She chuckled _._ “I don’t understand half these new sayings, but I got that one right away. And we’ll both vote for you, if we’re spared. It’s so nice someone’s making sense, at last. But we’re holding people up.”

They headed to their usual pew, leaving Adam grinning while letting me know he felt like rolling his eyes too. But Mrs Wright had broken the ice, and those sitting near us began saying proper hellos and offering support, to me, and Ramona and the Freed about press intrusion. There was real curiosity about anti-photography, and Ramona and I had sorted what we could say with Gwyn ap Lugh, so there was what amounted to a q.-and-a. about glamour until Reverend Jackson smilingly called time. The liturgy was its own business, but she had housekeeping about arrangements with the KPD while boosted security was necessary, and her sermon veered away from preternatural issues to ask about the meaning of sacred space. Churches were hallowed ground, as were mosques, synagogues, temples, and gurdwaras, but humans had a problem recognising as sacred things not enclosed by walls. Stone circles did the business, and sacred groves, which was what it sounded to her as if Celilo Falls was about to become ; but if fencing and trees would demarcate sacred space, it was nevertheless symbolic testimony to a much larger resacralisation that encompassed the whole Columbia Basin. We knew ecosystems were living things, and this one the domain of a manitou widely recognised by Christians as a Godsend, however also a warning, so the way we tended to divide space into enclosed and up-for-grabs was not working so well ; if it ever had. She didn’t have answers, but set everyone thinking.

Half the congregation seemed to think I might address them again, but Reverend Jackson, who’d checked, told them I’d meant what I said about it being over to them until Wednesday, and wouldn’t be lingering today because I was cooking for eighteen as well as earth fae. I didn’t have much left to do, Basmati rice and snow peas not needing a whole bunch of preparation, so Adam and I did stay a little, and I was amused to be asked what I was cooking, adding why I didn’t do this to lamb too often. There were appreciative _mmms_ , and I was happy to point people to the recipe and discuss steeping, but a more serious matter came up with gun-owners, strongly pro-SAGE and inclined to think Episcopalians and others might honourably weigh in. Reverend Jackson agreed there was a case and promised to ask the Bishop, urging wider consultation. It was a good note to end on, but the inane shouting of the media annoyed us, and the KPD had to use sirens to get us home.

“It’ll ease once there’s a regular schedule of press conferences.” Though he was being reassuring Adam’s irritation showed in the growl to his voice. “Today, though, it means our guests have a gauntlet to run.”

“And the trees have concentrated them at the front. I’ll ask the KPD to inform them, loudly, there will be minors among those arriving.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

He took wolves on four legs to snarl in chorus, and I rang Leslie and Clay to warn them — redundantly, because both had seen TV images, and Clay had talked to his bosses about escorts. Jesse had coverage of Adam at the gate on, and after he’d spoken briefly to the uniformed sergeant I felt the pull as he rolled out enough power to bring silence and let the media know their behaviour was over the line, and would be actionable if minor guests arriving were harassed. Wolves bared teeth satisfactorily, and Adam shifted to persuasive mode, telling them if they wanted access they’d better consider consequences. Rude Fox-guy, again to the fore, was silly enough to complain about a threat to press freedom, and Adam fixed him with a stare that made him drop eyes and shuffle feet.

“Boy, you’re dumb.” Adam shook his head. “That wasn’t a threat, just your basic _quid pro quo_. Be professional, we’ll make nice. Be unprofessional, we’ll exclude you from press conferences. _This_ would be a threat.”

He let a warning growl sound, gaze fixed on a suddenly scared Fox-guy.

“You and your station have always pushed your luck, as well as the boundaries of law. And you like exaggerating. With the preternatural that is _not_ good strategy, as we consider wilful exaggeration a lie, and there will be fae as well as wolves and minors arriving, so the Medicine Wolf Accords are in effect. You should try turning your brain on about that. So should your bosses.” Adam let Fox-guy go, and swept his gaze across everyone with Alpha punch. “You have my word no-one here, nor any guest, will be making any statement today. Mercy will not be making any before Wednesday. If you must wait, knowing it pointless, that’s your business, but if you are at my gate you _will_ behave in an orderly fashion, and stop disrespecting me, my family, wolves, and Kennewick PD. Last warning.”

He turned on his heel, speaking briefly to an obviously grateful sergeant, and several wolves stayed, eyeing a subdued mob. I was distracted by a call I’d been expecting, and when he came into the kitchen gave him a hug, enjoying his in return.

“Idiots.”

“I know, but you’ve put them on notice, and shaken Fox-guy hard enough he might start thinking.”

Adam sighed. “I’m not sure why they’re bothering me so much today.”

“Jesse. But I’m looking forward to seeing her pull out some style and whack them upside their assumptions. And me, as they’re a distraction when you’re fretting about Bonarata. But David will ease your heart, Irpa will have news of troll availability, and I’ve just spoken to Jill Widepaw, who will join us by 6, to eat. She thinks bodyguarding’s a bore but imagines I’ll make up for that, and says I get an A for legislator-wrangling. She was pleasingly blunt without disrespect, and made me feel my true age.”

Adam stared a moment, and laughed. “A Bear-ish bear avatar, then.”

“She’s had time to settle to it, love, being in her 2100s.”

More had to wait, because a call from the AED told me he and Wiseman were on the ground and would be with us in thirty. Leslie beat them — Jude and Jenna were coming later, with Clay and his family, and Tad — and so did Coyote, Ramona with Carla, Warren and Kyle, and Zee and Irpa, being Ms Thorsden, by archway, so it was a full house. The traffic made the media restless, though Adam’s warnings were holding them, and the three Feeb SUVs that followed a Benny’s van in had flashes blasting away, not that it would get them anything. Then again, though agents covered them, neither Westfield nor Wiseman made any attempt to avoid being identified, a calculus I could respect, and Westfield racked up points by greeting the Benny’s driver, cheerfully telling Wiseman that helping carry boxes in earned earlier choice of topping. I stepped out to greet them, ignoring the ripple of flashes, and offered a tense, mildly bemused Wiseman a grin as we headed in with laden arms. Good smells made for impatience as I whipped through introductions, noted how warmly Leslie and the AED greeted one another, saw Wiseman seated with his favourite Diavolo, which boded well, and gave everyone permission to tear in.

While slices were going down I kept to small talk, asking after their flight and families. I’d been saddened but not surprised to learn the AED was a widower, but he had a son and daughter he adored, both in college and doing well. Wiseman was older, his three children full-grown, but appreciated enquiries about their wellbeing and his wife’s, reciprocating with questions about my mom and sisters, making clear he’d been reading up on me. What my federal file looked like by now I dreaded to think, but he was showing willing as well as smart, and as hunger was assuaged I steered conversation to what he needed to know about vamps, making it clear Jesse knew about everything we’d be saying, while those arriving later, save Jill Widepaw, weren’t yet in this particular loop.

The extra guest had Westfield doing some checking, and others had questions, which set the tone nicely at informal. Zee was cool with it, and Irpa wasn’t bothered by letting her hair down. Details would remain uncertain until we had vamp input on how they’d handle failures of compliance, but everyone wanted the Farouts to work so over the litter of empty boxes Wiseman and the AED, digital recorders running, learned a great deal about vamps and the attitudes of wolves, Elder Spirits, trolls, and _metalzauber_ to them, as well as many other things.

Besides my adventures with Gauntlet-boy and Blackwood, which widened eyes, I didn’t say much, but I watched Wiseman carefully, and he watched me back, when his attention wasn’t nailed by one of the others. The AED had clearly spoken to him openly — I wouldn’t have minded being a fly on that wall, though my ears would no doubt have been burning — and he was finding confirmations as well as having his worldview adjusted. He appreciated my gently turning conversation, mid-afternoon, from vamps _per se_ and their history with our various kinds to the practical problem Farouts faced. My distinction of registration, monitoring, and enforcing compliance was accepted, and the first two were human business, though sheep put me centre-stage because none of the others had ever had much to do with them while I knew Stefan’s flock and had met some others. I also knew about feeding ties, warning Wiseman flatly that, the magic involved being very real, however invisible, his primary source would have to be vamps and sheep, and he’d need to be careful about psychiatrists he hired, so we did the putative SHEEP section. Enforcement was preternatural business, though, and Adam had been liaising with Alphas in cities with seethes, while Coyote spoke of searching for ghosts, already underway. One practical issue was a means of reporting discoveries, with a protocol for what would then happen, and Coyote added a memorable explanation of why some avatars were more vulnerable than others.

“All avatars are magic, founding Farout, and can do cool things, but don’t have wolf strength in human form, and if you’re fighting a vamp, fast and strong, turning into a rabbit, snake, or bobcat doesn’t help much. If you turn flier you have a better chance of escape, but not of killing the vamp. But if you turn cougar, bear, or elk, that’s another story. Weight’s up, and strength, with sheer bulk.” He grinned. “Horses for courses. Or bears for stairs. It’s one thing Mercy’s getting quite good at.”

“Still on a learning curve, but that matters, Mr Director. You know one of Cantrip’s biggest problems was that while they did very little except discriminate, they did it really badly, internally as externally, lumping shapeshifters, magic users, and fae together, so muddled about who can do what they couldn’t think straight even when they had to. A different example is humans compulsively packing silver, though lead stops a wolf just fine and the only point of silver is to kill, escalating to fatality before there’s need. It’s rude. How would you feel about a human who insisted on drawing and taking the safety off before he’d enter your house?” Wiseman winced. “Exactly. Your people don’t just need preternatural facts — they need an attitude based on understanding both problems on the Path of Assertion and opportunities on the Path of Mercy.”

“I get that, Ms Hauptman, but how to train that attitude is less clear.”

“ACT.” I held up a finger. “ _Accuracy_. Are you certain you have the facts straight?” And a second. “ _Clarity_. What is your perspective on those facts, and what perspectives might other beings have?” A third, with a coyote grin. “ _Thinking sideways_. I know, but your SOP has to include questioning SOP hard and often. Will it get the desired result? Because if not, forget it, and work out what will that is legal, polite, and viable.”

Westfield shook his head, smiling. “Accuracy. Clarity. Thinking sideways. That’s no bad summary, Mr Director, though matching Ms Hauptman at the sideways is probably not possible.”

“That’s my coyote-girl.” My great guru father sat back. “Good one, for an acronym, but it leaves out grabbing opportunities. We coyotes tend to play it by ear, and our ears are bigger and better than yours.”

“Un huh. But there’s creating opportunities too, Big Ears, and that’s about sideways. As a current example, someone in the Pentagon worked out huorns round secret installations might do wonders denying other nations satellite imagery, and as I’m all for real secrets being secret, co-operation, and carbon fixing, I’m thinking about it and will ask Underhill and Gwyn ap Lugh as and when. But benefits should run both ways, and huorns dislike pollution as much as any tree, so maybe it could be a lever to get the military looking hard at its energy budget, and agencies insisting employees use hybrids.”

“Huh. That’s very smart, Ms Hauptman. And legal, polite, and viable, as well as right and popular. Greener government in all ways.”

“You bet, AED. But the other thing I wanted to say about recruitment, Mr Director, is you shouldn’t just train people, you should grow them.” I took us back to what Jesse and everyone had been happy should be Others 101, adding the brief I envisaged for Frank. “We figure it can start early with the neverending mysteries of the other sex, go on to creeds, cultures, and colours, and include preternaturals from human magic users to manitous and fae, with practicals — school visits, trips, whatever. But some kids will be better at the preternatural strand. I don’t just mean preterophiles, but ones who are calmer, don’t get so freaked by very large or changing forms, or squicked by eating things raw.” I smiled wryly. “It’s harder to think sideways when you’re panicking or barfing and can’t think at all. You should be looking for those kids, offering a summer programme, opportunities leading to internships, college sponsorship, fast-tracking for really good ones. And don’t be afraid of having younger agents or supervisors than the Beltway thinks sensible — age matters less than getting it right. Adam’s twice my age, but less than a quarter of Warren’s, who isn’t a hundredth of Irpa’s, Zee’s, or Coyote’s. So what? We trust one another to try to do the right thing, and not do stupid things.”

“Unless they work.”

I flapped a hand at Coyote. “If they work they weren’t stupid.”

Leslie laughed. “The law of success we get. But Ms Hauptman is again spot on, Mr Director, and Miss Hauptman a walking example of what she means. My daughter and Detective Willis’s, who’ll be here later, Mary Oliver’s kids too. I’ve watched them learning to deal, and it’s not just being cool with the preternatural, it’s being supple and sharp with the world. My Jenna’s matured a _lot_ since we came here, in very good ways.”

“It’s home that counts, Leslie.”

“Un huh. And Jenna’s spent serious time in yours and Adam’s, Mercy. Point is, Mr Director, I’d write very strong recommendations if any of them prove interested in a career with the Bureau. And there will be others like them, especially around wolf-packs. I can see wolves’ children might be an issue, but look among their smarter friends.”

“I’d second that, Mr Director.” Westfield gave me a long look. “Excluding Ms Thorsden and Mr Adelbertsmiter would be rude, so I’ll say your willingness to aid the FBPA makes the Federal Government glad.”

“Indeed.” Wiseman was emphatic. “It has been very helpful, and I can see my way forward much more clearly, with the immediate vampire problem and longer term. I must respect, ah, electoral contingency, but may I talk to Mr Lafferty about how he would, if elected, wish to proceed? This Others 101 as a nationwide feeder system, not only for my Bureau but as a way of getting humans who can _think_ preternatural into federal agencies would be a policy I think most fellow directors would support.”

“Of course.” My eyes met Adam’s, and we stifled sighs. “You should talk to Jesse, Mr Director, and Jenna and Sally when they get here. They’ve been taking point on this, and however it plays social networking and peer-to-peer education will be critical.” I felt the tingle of magic, and so did Coyote, Zee, and Irpa. “But it’s time to say hi to Medicine Wolf.”

“Ah.”

Wiseman actually coped quite well, helped by the AED being cool with Medicine Wolf, even when Irpa dropped her glamour — for ease, she said, human dimensions making her feel as if she was wearing shoes several sizes too small, but I’d bet mutual admiration by megafauna was involved. Earth fae joined us, to greet Wiseman and because I’d promised to feed them early, not being able to accommodate them with nineteen other guests. Steaming didn’t take long, nor decanting cookies, which gave me the opportunity to weave a hospitality spell, explaining to Wiseman.

“If you had a magic user who could cook on staff, even coffee and cookies, formally served, could make for more productive interagency meetings.” Preternaturals laughed, he blinked, and I shrugged. “Use what you can. I try to use magic as WD-40, reducing friction and drag. And any magic user who is a host can cast a hospitality spell.”

“Right.” Wiseman frowned. “I thought I had clarity about other perspectives and thinking sideways, but you seem to blend them.”

There was more laughter, and Adam leaned forward.

“Yes and no, Mr Director. Mercy perceives magic oddly. That gives you the friction and WD-40. But then she thinks sideways, because a bunch of desks arguing are in someone’s territory, and if they eat and drink they can be magicked into greater goodwill, so why not?”

I don’t know how well Wiseman got it, but while earth fae ate we sat round Medicine Wolf to canvass what if any roles Farouts had in the Columbia Restoration, Cascadia evacuation, and Celilo Falls. The answers to two and three were limited to observation, but as dam work progressed into the Snake and Flathead there would be opportunities for training and experience. Removing dams is no kind of simple, engineering being critical as well as happily assistable by preternatural abilities, and Medicine Wolf was willing to accommodate serious students. As it reminded Wiseman, opportunities would extend with Ol’ Manitou River and levees, and with Others 101 field-trips also on the cards another web of connections and routes to recruitment opened up that kept us going for a while.

“Maybe you should have an educational division, Mr Director. Not just recruitment, but a wider mission. The better educated humans are about the preternatural, the less trouble you’ll have to deal with, and we all want new teaching materials for Others 101 to be good. FBPA approval that something meets the ACT requirements should carry weight.”

“ _Ja._ ” Zee nodded. “And the other way, if you blacklist something. Nothing will stop humans spreading and believing what is false, but there should be a standard they can trust. And surely the young must be taught truth about all kinds. Preternatural Affairs must include what humans falsely think and believe of us.”

Irpa nodded as well, tattoo-Skuffles echoing her. “Perhaps some of that money we hacked, that the Man said should go to Farouts, could be earmarked for education. There was enough to go a long way around.”

The AED knew he was being corralled, but approved, and with Coyote happily imagining educational ads we got more useful stuff done before the gate warned Adam our outstanding guests had arrived with a KPD escort. Adam and I thanked Medicine Wolf, and left Jesse to see everyone inside while we headed out front. It turned out Jude and Jenna, with Tad in convoy, had collected Clay, Donna, and Sally Willis, using a big hybrid SUV that was one fruit of Leslie’s promotion, and Jill Widepaw had had the luck or good timing to tuck her battered pickup in behind the trailing escort. I remembered her sixty-ish appearance, some gray in her long, braided hair, as well as the sense of bulk despite evident fitness and easy movement, but knowing her true age her eyes seemed different. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing more clearly, or she’d let it show, but for all my bravado about ages I did feel 34 to her 2100+, like Pippin or Merry looking into Treebeard’s infinite eyes. All Fae and Elder Spirits had it, and Medicine Wolf, but they were of other kinds, even my not-exactly father, while Jill was of mine, and that look was one thing I was aiming for.

“She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. I’d heard about your new trees, but they’re something to see.”

“Aren’t they just? The ghouls are furious.” She gave a wide grin. “Adam you know, but come meet everyone else, starting with these fine humans.”

Clay and Jude were easy, as was Tad, but Donna Willis was edgier, not having been round us as much, and Jenna and Sally careful to ease things along with Jill and Tad. The kitchen’s easy informality was good, though I did formal introductions to respect Wiseman as well as Zee and Irpa, before leaving Adam to supervise laying the table, with a couple of stools for a sated but lively Pirandella and Nuthatch, and taking Jude and Jenna to meet Medicine Wolf. They were excited, reading was as swift as ever, and after thanking them and asking about reading more African Americans who knew the Mississippi, it offered me private assurances that while it wouldn’t be visible, it would be alert and around. Back inside I found Wiseman had taken Leslie’s advice and was talking to, or being talked to by, Jesse, Jenna, and Sally, and Adam was getting to know Jill. Ramona and Carla helped me with rice and snowpeas, and when meat came out of the oven while trays of apples went in, good smells filled the air. Westfield drifted across, nodding to Carla and Ramona.

“AED?”

“Just Grant, at the moment, if you will.”

“With pleasure. Mercy, then. Leslie’s told you how we switch SAC and Ms in and out?”

“She did, and it works for me. This is more than duty, however I’m on it.” He gave a smile I liked. “I’ve already promised you my vote, and I am the very opposite of repining. I’m also relieved by the guards and defences you have, Mercy, and I meant it about asking for anything else of use.”

“Thanks, Grant, but we’re good so far, and more resources will be arriving. David Christiansen, for one. Or six.”

“So I gathered. Are the huorns also an alarm system?”

“Among other things. But not speaking about it matters. I want vamps inaccurate, unclear, and thinking in straight lines, and with magic involved loose lips really can sink ships.”

“Yes. But from the AED’s point of view, you’re a civilian taking point in a war, and he, like Grant, is really looking forward to your inauguration.”

People kept mentioning that, hypothetical as it was, so while I served, Carla setting out dishes of marinade, and people discovered you really could carve the lamb with a spoon, I asked how many languages I should take the oath in and whether I should do it on four legs as well as two. Amid laughter, the consensus was as many languages as I wanted, and Coyote countered Zee’s observation that an oath in either form held both, and suggesting otherwise a bad idea, by pointing out I couldn’t say it for coyotes unless I was one. Grant was clear that the Constitution _de facto_ mandated the oath be sworn in English but a president-elect had the right to add words — that having been tested about _So help me God_ — and translations into Spanish and Amerindian languages unquestionably lawful. With expertise available, and lamb being savoured even by Adam and Warren, I brought up the text on my phone and asked Coyote and Jill to do Salish and Siksiká while others tried Spanish. Pirandella slyly offered Old Cornish, but I countered with a different question I’d wondered about, and got her promise to provide a guide to pronunciation.

We were, saving wolves and Irpa, pretty full, the lamb being ridiculously rich as well as soft, but once we’d cleared and I dished baked apples spaces were discovered. The wolves and Irpa got two, everyone was complimentary, and domesticity again hit its mark. Wiseman was still adjusting, but seeing humans, including ex-kiddos, interacting happily with several kinds of preternatural, not in conflict or emergency but as friends and willing allies, made what had been abstract abruptly real, in more ways than he’d anticipated. He was excited by possibilities he was beginning to imagine, a flowering of solid administrative work he’d already put in, and I was feeling pleased with myself when serious magic flickered nearby. Zee’s, Irpa’s, and Coyote’s heads snapped up, bringing abrupt silence.

“What?”

“Not sure, Adam. Magic nearby. And … odd. Mixed. But it just came and went. Anyone recognise it?”

“Some was fae, _liebchen_ , but I am not sure what kind.”

There was a much more familiar ripple of magic.

“I suspect we’re about to find out.”

When I opened the back-door Medicine Wolf put its great head inside, silver-on-gold eyes meeting mine as it spoke privately.

_Mercy, an Undead entered your land on foot, and sought to observe from the grove. One of the oaks objected. You should come to see, but perhaps not all your guests._

I processed, wondering about education. “Objected as in dismissed?”

Wolf and fae attention behind me spiked.

_Yes._

“Dust?”

_Yes._

“Any others about?”

_No. He came alone, stealthily, though clear to me._

“Alright. Give me a moment?”

_Of course._

I turned. “Jude, Jenna, Clay, Donna, Sally, there’s no danger but something’s happened I and others need to see. Jenna, Sally, it’s your parents’ call, and Leslie and Jesse know what’s involved, but one, anyone who comes swears an oath of secrecy — limited time, but it matters a great deal until — and two, given it is safe, however … squicky, we’ve been pushing education all day, so I’d advise all to take the opportunity.”

Leslie’s eyebrows were high but she looked hard at Jude, then nodded, and he shrugged agreement. Clay also looked at his wife, then at me.

“Another preternatural secret popping, Mercy?”

“Yup. And it’s a doozy. You’re only one circle outside need-to-know, and before you left tonight I’d have given you some interesting new ammo for your Glock. This just shortens the timetable, and the facts will break wide in no more than six weeks, probably sooner. But there is a squick factor.”

“OK. We do squick. What sort of interesting ammo?”

“Oaths, if everyone’s in?” They were, and I collected them, rolling out a little power. “Alright. And that would be wooden ammo, Clay, because the problem is vampires. They exist, are not good news, and we, meaning every kind here, are jointly outing them and imposing reform. Detail can wait but it’s germane that I delivered an ultimatum to the vamp’s powerful if ridiculous dictator Friday night, speaking for and with the Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits plus Medicine Wolf, and the Man. I know, but Director Wiseman and the AED can confirm. Right now, what matters is Medicine Wolf tells me a vamp came to spy, and stood next to an oak that objected, terminally, so we need to go see some dust.”

It would have been very odd even without croggled humans, and preternaturals were deeply intrigued. The fae offered assurances no-one would be photographing anything without their let, but we went through the garden, and if no-one disbelieved Medicine Wolf’s assurance of no present danger we were still armed to the nines. I had a Glock packing wood and so did Jesse, on principle. Zee hadn’t dropped glamour but acquired a sword, Irpa had Giant-shortener, and even Nuthatch and Pirandella had hands on oak hilts. Adam issued a bunch of LED torches, beams cutting darkness and picking up Medicine Wolf as it loped alongside. I was also toting a hand vacuum with a clean bag, and I’d grabbed dust-masks. In unspoken accord wolves and fae had taken the perimeter, keeping Jesse and humans inside it, and Coyote had joined in. No-one was speaking, and when we got to the grove a deeper silence grew as we formed a circle, torch beams concentrating, and other earth fae slipped from the trees to join us.

The objecting oak was well-positioned to shield someone looking at the house, and binoculars tumbled on the grass told us the vamp had been doing just that — until a hanging branch had grown a twig right through him, from behind. A designer jacket and shirt, sporting a tie, hung limply from the twig, tips of expensive leather shoes and a briefcase peeping out from crumpled trousers, silk boxers, and uneven heap of dust directly beneath them. I heard Zee mutter something astonished in Old German as my mind spun, and after one long second snapped into action.

“Nuthatch, Pirandella, please convey our gladness and check if the oak needs help. Growing that fast has to be a strain. Irpa, get Gwyn ap Lugh on your phone, please, with video? Adam, Bran ditto? Jesse, Frank. SAC, AED, independent recordings please, and bring the Man in if you can.” That would do, and once phones were held out I took a breath. “What happened here is the vamp came to observe and maybe more, using the oak as cover, and the oak grew a twig right through him, which has to be Underhill time bubbled Overhill, somehow. A few months’ growth in less than a second. Vamp was old enough to become dust, but if that tailoring and those shoes aren’t Italian I’m a dingo. Ex-kiddos, humans, note my precautions. You really, really do _not_ want to breathe vamp dust, because it tastes _vile_. And SAC, one analysable sample coming up, as requested.”

I put on a mask, asked the cloak to seal itself tightly and repel anything I stirred up, and set to. Gently whacking shirt and jacket with Manannán’s Bane dislodged any dust that had stuck, and while Adam, also masked, checked jacket pockets, recovering wallet, keys, and phone, a combination of prodding and vacuuming allowed Warren to recover trousers, socks, and shoes, with loose change, Euros and cents, and a gold signet ring with a pelican crest. Memory pinged, and a query to Adam, investigating the wallet, elicited confirmation. I finished vacuuming, asking an appreciative Nuthatch to warn worms and insects before I tackled the grass, and straightened, detaching the bag and holding it out as I shucked the mask.

“SAC Fisher, the dust of Alessandro di Ragusa, Bonarata’s first-call assassin and one of his children. Born in the 1480s, IIRC, and certainly worth being rid of. Nuthatch, how’s the oak?”

“I believe it is well, Mercedes Elf-friend, but it has done a new thing, and an oakman to bespeak it directly would not be amiss.”

I looked at Irpa, who nodded. “The Prince hears, Mercy, and is on his way. Does the Marrok wish to be collected, Adam Hauptman?”

“He does, Irpa, and is glad of the offer.”

Less than a minute after Irpa stashed her phone an arch opened, and ap Lugh came through with The Dagda, two oakmen, Bran, and Charles. I did proper introductions, but what mattered was the oakmen vanishing into the oak, with ap Lugh’s clear statement a moment later that though strained and in human terms shocked, it had taken no harm. Relieved, I quirked an eyebrow.

“Was this expected, Gwyn ap Lugh?”

“Not at all, Mercedes Elf-friend, but file under synergies.” He shrugged, elegant as ever. “Your cloak has spoken to the oaks, and when this one knew one Undead to stand beneath it, it had an idea, and made a request Underhill promptly granted.”

“Very promptly.”

“And what is time to Underhill? We must know what is in that briefcase.”

Adam was peering at it. “Fingerprint lock, so it needs busting. Mercy, can you smell explosives?”

I stooped to smell carefully along the join. “Only cartridges, Adam. For my money there’s a gun in there, as well as silver ammo.”

Coyote went coyote to sniff, and shifted back. “Nothing like a booby-trap I can smell, cautious son-in-law.”

“With modern PE, cautious is good, believe me. Gwyn ap Lugh, and other magic users, can any sense anything that means we shouldn’t use force?”

Even humans felt the magical weight that fell on the briefcase, shuffling slightly, and it made me squint. Zee’s and Tad’s probing magics were most interesting, The Dagda’s and ap Lugh’s more repelled by the steel framing and lock, but after a moment all shook heads.

“ _Nein._ It is just security, Adam Hauptman. And while I cannot smell its contents as Mercy did, I agree it is a gun and silver bullets.”

“I concur, Dark Smith. Irpa, yours is the greatest strength here.”

“No problem, Prince. Hand me the briefcase when I have my gloves on, Adam Hauptman, if you will.”

Irpa’s dress did _not_ have room for pockets, but she produced a pair of hefty leather gloves from somewhere that I strongly suspected were the glamoured version of the ones I’d seen her wear to rip steel doors apart. She pulled them on Ms Thorsden’s elegant hands, and when Adam gave her the briefcase something very magical happened. Her hands still _looked_ right, but she was holding the whole thing from opposite sides, fingers curled round the base, thumbs pressing above and below the lock, which was _not_ spatially possible. And it didn’t last, leather and steel dimpling under pressure, and the briefcase opened with a _crack_ that sent a fragment of something straight up. When I looked down again a normal hand was holding the briefcase closed, the other outstretched until the fragment came down and was tossed to Zee. Then Irpa opened the case.

“Ta-daaa!”

I might have grinned, but it _was_ a gun — an assassin’s rifle, as in _The Day of the Jackal_ , stock, chamber plus trigger, two-section barrel, telescopic sight, and silencer in custom-cut recesses, a row of large-calibre silver bullets on one side. I swallowed as my mind spun and could almost hear everyone thinking. Charles spoke first.

“There are many implications.”

“Yes.” Bran’s voice held weight. “The Undead are every bit as blind and overconfident as they wrongly think you, Mercy. Di Ragusa acts only on Bonarata’s direct orders, so he is kneejerking as hoped, and if this one may have flown in rather than translocated, a solitary first approach was long-term SOP, and that he did not know or think to avoid huorns speaks volumes. And it is … a cliché.”

“Oh yeah. Which we want.”

“Yes. How do you wish to respond?”

I thought about it, but I knew. “With another, Bran, which will confuse Bonarata because he doesn’t realise he’s being funny. _Luca Brasi is sleeping with the fishes._ Or the pizzas.” Bran blinked, but Charles gave me a slow, brotherly grin. “You get the dust, SAC, and the binoculars and gun, which should be run against any open snipings. We’ll deal with the wallet and phone, and pass on data when we have it. Meantime, Warren, please grab some Benny’s boxes, pack the shoes and clothes, add a little parmesan, and with a guard detail drop them off at Marsilia’s seethe. Signet ring on top of the stack. Just hand over and leave, or if there’s no answer in reasonable time, set down and leave.”

<Parmesan?>

I recognised the voice from the AED’s phone. “Oh yeah, Mr President. Bonarata just said _war on_ , and if it goes to plan he’s bruschetta.”


	29. II : Mayhem and Magic -- Chapter 29

**II : Mayhem and Magic**

_28 th April – 11th May_

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

MONDAY started normally, for my new value of normal, with the interview for Leslie’s friend Maya Lucas as Mary’s assistant. Some media had trailed after Wiseman and Westfield last night, but Maya still had to endure clattering cameras and pointless questions, and climbed out of her hybrid Nissan shaking her head. I met her in the hall, and Mary introduced us.

“I’ve seen them on TV, but I’d forgotten how annoying they are, Ms Hauptman, until I saw your husband tell them off yesterday. I thought he was quite restrained, and now I think it was very restrained.”

“Me too, Ms Lucas. They seem to feel my week of silence is a tease.”

“Whereas that’s actually a side-benefit?”

I laughed, liking her attitude. “You could say, though I was just giving people time to digest surprise. And they’ll settle down some, we hope, when there are regular press conferences.”

I opted as usual for the kitchen, and made coffee and hot chocolate. Jill was sitting-in, as a way of getting used to my patterns. I had a few questions arising from Maya’s CV, but a blip in her pre-maternal job had, as I’d suspected, had a racist component, and slapping any groper was fine by me. It explained why she was wary of returning to a corporate environment, and interested by a more personal position, though she hadn’t anticipated how high profile it was about to become. Then again, that didn’t bother her, though flexibility did.

“My youngest is sixth-grade, the school bus picks up and drops off at the end of the street, and she’ll get on with her work, or surf for a while, but my husband’s Pasco PD, so he can be on late shift and even good kids have limits. And there’s illness, snow days, whatever. I’ll be straight, Ms Hauptman — I asked Leslie when this all came up, and though she won’t say much, your contact with her being work, she did say you’d be OK with someone who works hard having an actual life with stuff that happens.”

“Not a problem, Ms Lucas. Your older kids are eighth- and ninth-grade?”

“Un huh.”

“Any likely stuff there?”

“Not so much. I hope. Teenagers. But they’re boys who worship their dad, who has very strong values, and so far we’ve had nothing worse than some vanilla porn and dubious dancehall. And I’ll be straight again — all my kids are very up for meeting you, if they get the chance.”

“Me or Medicine Wolf, Coyote, and whoever?”

“Oh them too, sure, but no, you. Woman of colour who stood up and smacked the government so hard it actually took notice. We’d told them about Amerindian culture, taking them to museums and Yakama Nation Open Days, so they were ripe for _#SheCalledThunderbird!_ and still are. Leslie agrees you’re seriously cool, and she doesn’t impress easily.”

“Ah.” I rocked my head. “They should meet Mary’s two sometime. Same problem, but I’ve rubbed off some of the glitter.”

“Sure. But to me and Boz, my husband, it’s not a problem, Ms Hauptman. You are a very good role model. You talk the talk, very funnily often enough, but you also walk the walk, and when you do, righteous stuff happens. What’s not to like?”

I sighed. “That would be the growing burden of responsibility, Ms Lucas. But your kids should meet Jesse and Sally Willis. You’ve been straight, so I will be too. I’m looking to change things, long-term, and that means getting to kiddos and ex-kiddos. Join up, and your kids will get recruited to pushing peer-to-peer education and what we’re calling Others 101 — everything from _Hey, there are boys_ slash _girls_ to Quiltbag, wolves, fae, elder spirits, manitous. Learn to deal, guys and gals.”

“Others 101?” She grinned. “Recruit away. I’ve seen you protect Miss Hauptman, just a little, and all her schoolfellows. You wouldn’t have the votes you do if we didn’t trust you to protect our kids.”

I swallowed, both humbled and exultant. “That makes my heart very full, Ms Lucas. But being close to me is also a genuine risk-factor. Sticking with what’s public, this week I annoyed every preterophobe, both main parties, the NRA with all extremist gun-nuts, and the yellower press. I have major security, physical and magical, if you are visible next to me you will need to be careful, and will face an elevated risk. So will your family, because bad guys are bad. If you’re going to do this, your husband and children should understand all that, and not dissent.”

“Yeah. Leslie gave Boz and me a heads-up about that, and we’ve talked about it. The haters I understand, and fruitcakes, and they’ll be drawn to you for the same reason we all are. But Boz walks out in uniform every day, so we know about heightened risk … as humans. With you, though, there’s some preternatural more, isn’t there, that you can’t tell me about until I’m signed up, and maybe not then?”

“Yup. And plenty of it. My life is insanely complicated, and winning, if I do, will _not_ help. I have always attracted trouble, and always will. Coyotes do. I am trying hard to reduce the threat environment for everyone, and I don’t think I’ve done badly so far, but my presence elevates risk that will spread to your family, and you need to be good with that, which a sane person very reasonably wouldn’t be.”

She looked at me hard. “Scruples, Leslie said. Am I correct you want me to accept an offer, so you’re pouring on the warnings?”

I liked her even more. “Un huh. Leslie told me I’d like you. I have also had to argue this with Jesse, who vetoed Adam’s veto on me running.”

“Yeah. Jenna told me Wednesday. I hear you, Ms Hauptman, but my kids have a veto veto too, and I know when I’ve been served it. They’ve done it before, and did again this morning, when we heard the statement Wiseman gave about coming to see you not because of your candidacy but because of your role in the Columbia Restoration and Cascadia projects.”

I nodded, and held out a hand. “Welcome aboard, Maya. Mary will take you to Jenny’s to look over the contract. There’s a bunch of secrecy stuff, national and preternatural, but as soon as you sign they can brief you on what matters.” She nodded. “Meantime, if you’ll give me an oath of secrecy until this one breaks, there’s something I’d appreciate thoughts on.”

When she had I laid out Ol’ Manitou River and my thoughts on its manifestation, earlier readings, and desirable affinity for Sam Fathers and Robert Johnson. Very wide eyes looked at me.

“This is a hypothetical, Mercy, right?”

“Nope, a practical. The Mississippi Basin _is_ going to manifest. It _will_ manifest as whatever it wants. But it has, indirectly, asked for advice, so I am canvassing opinions. Jude and Jenna are in this loop. It’s a great manitou, so none of us get to decide for it, ever, but we have voices it’ll hear. You do. If you want.”

“You bet I want. Fuck. Sorry.” I held back a grin, thinking even Adam might be more amused than not. “Medicine Wolf asked you about this, and you thought of Ol’ Manitou River first off?”

“Yeah. But what do I know? I’m a Pacific North-Western coyote-girl, and though I listen seriously to Blues my ancestors weren’t kidnapped from Africa and horribly enslaved on another continent.”

“Maybe not, Mercy, but you get it. And asking me about this has taken my breath away. Damn. This is going to be so much really scary fun.”

“Oh yeah. I’m just hoping the fun wins.”

Mary took Maya to Jenny’s, and I made a call to let her know they were on their way that extended, filling me in on hiring, launch and rally plans, and updates on the website after Wednesday. Jenny passed me to Andrea for news from other Basin states, happy with the joint bill and busy preparing their own versions. Canada worked differently, but was in hand. Andrea had also had a conversation with a fascinated if alarmed Frank, and I reassured her I was good, if still thinking hard about implications.

Those stayed at the top of the agenda when Leslie called a while later, or rather SAC Fisher did, sounding wry.

<Nothing on vamp dust yet, Ms Hauptman, though I had the pleasure of croggling a senior chemist at Quantico, but we’ve done ballistics on that rifle, which European police are very interested in. A score of open cases, no less, in six countries over forty-odd years. Explaining that we have only dust has been … tricky.>

“An advanced state of decomposition?”

<That’s the one, and fortunately there are no travel records saying that’s not naturally possible. Mr di Ragusa has been a busy boy, though, and more than half his victims were in one or another form of organised crime — drugs and people smuggling, mostly, but there were politicians in there, and a magistrate.>

I shrugged. “Surprise. The CIA will be briefing European authorities on that. Neither wolves nor fae have much intel — surveilling Eurovamps is not our business — but the Marrok and Gray Lords knew Bonarata was into mafia stuff, and had plenty of politicians in his pocket. Whether they know whose pocket they’re in, though …”

<Yeah. I wondered about that. No local hotel booking in di Ragusa’s name, nor any registered guest who’s disappeared.>

“He’d have stayed at Marsilia’s, I’d think. And probably translocated, so I wouldn’t waste resources, given that he’s done and dusted.”

<You could say.> Leslie blew out a breath. <I am not squicked, but I am still kinda freaked.>

“Seeing is believing.”

<Un huh. But it’s more the oak than the vampire. Huorns got real on me, fast. And others.>

“Me too, SAC, and Gwyn ap Lugh and The Dagda were as surprised as I’ve ever seen them. But while I’m pretty happy about it, I reinforce what I said last night — I do not want his method of demise discussed at all, because it points to things I’d greatly prefer Bonarata not wonder about, and the jacket and shirt will only tell them he was staked, not how.”

<Un huh. I’m not sure I can quite get my head around being surprised by your own defences, Ms Hauptman.>

“Synergy happens, SAC. Living beings do their own thing. And there’s a long association of sacred groves with blood and magic. Aulis and Colonus, as well as all those Welsh druids. Or file under cloak.”

<I guess. And thanks to someone for the data from the phone and wallet. Oddly, all the bank accounts have been siphoned dry.>

“Money’s in the Borrowed Warchest — more tens of millions, though he put his main wealth in real estate. But there was some data on the phone behind hard encryption that has the Marrok rethinking Plan B, so there might be some interesting Italian news, by the by.”

<Huh. Never a dull moment. Any local reaction yet?>

“Not a peep. Warren said a sheep answered the door, and he saw no-one else. It’ll be a night or two, I’d think. After Wednesday might appeal to Bonarata’s vanity.”

<Vanity? Damn. I’m not sure how you stay so calm, Mercy.>

“No point fretting, Leslie, and my stomach can mind its own. I’ve rolled the dice, and done all I can to weight them.”

<Even so. Hang on.> Something bleeped and I heard her clicking. <Oh ho. Main parties are making a joint statement at 4 p.m. Eastern. National Committee chairs, majority and minority leaders, and candidates.>

1 p.m. Pacific was only forty minutes away. They’d been quicker than they might have been, but their silence in the Sunday papers had been deafening, and the speed suggested they were taking the easy option.

“Interesting. You want to bet a Benny’s pie about what they’ll say?”

<Not much. You’re usually way ahead of the curve. I’ll take the prediction, though.>

“No pie, no prophecy. But I think they’re going to do what I want. Work it out.”

She thought I was mean, but Maya Lucas pleased her better, and we rang off. Bran and ap Lugh already knew about the ballistics report and the cases it matched, and ap Lugh let me know the oakmen had returned Underhill and reported the oak recovering and quite proud of itself.

“It is digesting your concern for its welfare, Mercy, and I am sorry it doesn’t have a vote. Not that huorns would attend a polling station.”

I grinned. “Shame. It would be quite the photo op, if they allowed photography.”

“Indeed. If we had some bacon, we could have bacon and eggs, if we had some eggs.”

“That’s the one. But tell me what oaks like, if you will. I do appreciate that one’s … initiative.”

“So delicately put. And besides good earth and clean water, I have no idea how to reward an oak. The question has not arisen before.”

“Huh. Winter trunk warmer? Branch accessories?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Ask it, if you will. A name, perhaps.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want Leafy the Vampire Slayer out there just yet.”

I thought for a second he might roll his eyes, but only shook his head again. “Oaks have some dignity, Mercedes.”

“So did Buffy, in her own sweet way. I’ll think about it. But there’s a joint statement to enjoy coming up. All guns blazing, I should think.”

He would too, and neither of us was disappointed. Adam rescheduled appointments, and we watched it together, with Brent, Warren, and Jill. It turned out declared candidates meant only senior men, two younger women being absent, and it started with national chairs deploring the Man’s actions and reasoning, implying an unhealthy loss of perspective in an unfortunate obsession with the preternatural, but conceding Basin states were in a peculiar position, given the Columbia Restoration, so they would take no action against governors who had endorsed me. Any further endorsements, however, would lead to withdrawal of funding, expulsion, and official candidates to run against incumbents. I rubbed my hands, and Adam nodded.

“They’re letting themselves in for a ruinous bunfight. Bile all over.”

“Yup. The Basin doesn’t need a double standard.”

“Nice one. Say that on Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah. And here we go.”

Candidates were on, and as I’d expected their chosen route was a collective impression of John McEnroe going _You cannot be serious!_ I’d said it myself — too young, no experience, a coyote-girl — but that didn’t stop them repeating it, often, and adding plenty of their own. I was plainly unfit in every way, not to be trusted in the least, and killing a federal agency that had become hopelessly corrupt was no kind of evidence I could work with ones that hadn’t. I might be married to a vet, but could not hope to understand or sensibly control our great armed services, and the bi-state Columbia bill showed my absurdly skewed priorities. Moving interstates and railways was quixotic — one of them said so — and puerile, not the sort of thing any potential president should countenance, and amounted to a land-grab by Elder Spirits on the back of the deal the Yakama had made. It was true I’d done the nation a service in exposing Cantrip, though no-one mentioned Heuter, but my eyes had grown a great deal bigger than my head, I’d bitten off more than I could chew, and was additionally flailing about in the dark while already way out of my depth.

“Lucky you have excellent night-vision and can swim, then.”

“Isn’t it, Brent?”

Then the ones who took NRA money turned on SAGE, denouncing it as the Thin End of the Wedge and a Threat to All Patriotic Americans — what else could they try? — and a couple denounced doing anything sensible about drugs, attacking my offensive levity and defeatism about the noble war of purity the right-thinking properly waged on behalf of all children. Jibes about Adam came in, it not being a good idea to have a presidential spouse who went furry at full moons and chased animals, nor a president who went along with it. But none of them said anything at all about crowdfunding, or the numbers on the website, and they were far more mealy-mouthed than I’d expected about Frank and a crowdsourced slate — only a few invocations of a wildly woolly plan indicating my gross unsuitability for the serious business of national security and governance. Wednesday would change that, and I was rubbing hands some more, though the relentless invective was a bore, when thoughts coalesced.

“You know, Adam, it strikes me that if they all feel so strongly about this, I should offer them an early TV debate to prove their points and catch me out on whatever.”

He looked at me steadily. “Un huh. And you feel so generous because?”

“Debate could be in St Louis. Washington University’s hosted them before. Make it happen a lot sooner than later and I could meet Ol’ Manitou River, so that’s out of the way before campaigning really begins. Quite different from anything electoral, and I like clear boundaries.”

“Of course you do. Alright, I see that, love. And the other shoe is?”

“I was thinking end of next week. Assume the seethe attack’s been and gone, with the results we’re hoping for, meaning a very jumpy Bonarata has to upgrade whatever he deploys. A late afternoon walk from the riverside to wherever would be a nice predictable target.”

He was silent but his brain was working, and after a moment he nodded. “Too long a timescale and things will leak while he gets to recalibrate.”

“Yes. And if Bran can pull off that bit of Plan B …”

“He’ll be under immense pressure. You’re offering a path of least resistance, going off your own ground, out of the Basin. I loathe the risk, but I see the shape of it. Suppose he reverts to sniping?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s true anywhere. I asked the cloak about fogging telephoto lenses of all kinds, and it didn’t disagree. Manannán’s Bane, too. But there’s psychology. Will clinical efficiency be enough for him, when he’s 161 billion and change down, maybe much more, plus di Ragusa and whoever? What little he did say was about making my death worse, so that might weigh — he’ll want me to see it coming.”

All that had, however oddly, made Adam less unhappy, and Brent and Warren, while Jill was looking at me inscrutably, saying nothing, so while he went back to work I started one ball rolling by calling Medicine Wolf to ask about a swifter timetable. There were enough ramifications it said it’d come by, and did, head half-through the back door to read me, as Adam did not want me outside without compelling reason.

 _If those for me and my neighbour to read can be assembled so soon, Mercy, I think this will be acceptable. My neighbour was interested by your responses, and Raven played it the song you thought of. It quite liked it. It will also be able to warn you of any Undead within its territory._ _I am not sure I understand making this distinct from your campaign, though. It will boost it, surely?_

“Almost certainly, but I’ll be seen to try to do the right thing, and it’ll be a screwball for other candidates, because if they bring it up to attack me, they’ll be boosting the effect and looking silly.”

_A coyote joke, then?_

“A human one, too. Political snookering.”

_As you will. And once my neighbour is talking to hydro-engineers and governors, it will become a separate process from the election cycle, so that is not untrue. One moment._

Its eyes went distant, and I sensed strong magic swirling somewhere before its gaze sharpened again.

 _My neighbour is willing, and has decided that unless any of those we are to read object cogently, Ol’ Manitou River_ _is acceptable. So is Friday next week. The musical idea is also appealing, but I believe you will get something closer to Paul Robeson than Robert Johnson._

“Huh. Has it heard Robert Johnson?”

_Not yet, but I did ask Raven._

“He’s not big on Blues — says he’d rather be cheerful. I’ll ask Coyote”

_How else will you proceed?_

I laid it out, and shortly started other balls rolling, talking to Bran and ap Lugh, before calling the Chancellor of WashU. His secretary blinked when I popped onto her screen, cloak round my shoulders, but put me right through. To no-one’s surprise he was delighted to make the Athletic Complex available, even with heavy preternatural security involved as well as the Secret Service, and Friday week would be fine.

“I have no guarantee I can make it happen, sir, but I will make the offer publicly Wednesday, and can promise to turn up myself, so even if the rest have enough sense to stay away there’ll be something to see.”

“Fair enough, Ms Hauptman. The _sense_ to stay away?”

“Oh yeah. That joint statement omitted a bunch of facts, burked critical issues, and didn’t do such a good job hiding fear and bigotry. If you keep them from packing the audience — faculty and current students only, select alumni as personal guests — I can give them a _much_ harder time than most will think possible.”

“Ah. Yes, I imagine you can. But while I take your point about packing audiences, it could be said that with those restrictions you are doing as much yourself, Ms Hauptman. The university is of course neutral, but your support among 18-to-25s is sky high already.”

“Un huh. And you have official main-party campus chapters. Invitations to both, please, and any smaller parties with chapters. I want questions from the floor, and youngsters committed to parties are in an interesting position just now, that for my money Beltway and backroom types should be asking better questions about.”

“Ye-es. I can’t disagree. And we can hardly be faulted for inviting our own students to attend. In the past we have reserved blocks for St Louis U., UMSL, and Harris-Stowe.”

“No problem with that, sir, nor any genuine selection of the public. Just not DC stooges.”

“No-one has seriously tried that before, Ms Hauptman.”

“Glad to hear it, sir. Thing is, though, both main parties are jammed on this one, and have just shown they’ll be going for maximally negative campaigning, while I prefer heading trouble off at the pass.”

“Mmm. But what would such stooges do?”

“Inappropriate questions, most obviously. My rape, and killing the rapist. Jesse. Sex on four legs.” I shrugged. “Splatter tactics, plus goading in the hope anger will make me say something I shouldn’t.”

His face showed distaste, but he nodded. “That makes unpleasant sense, and I agree I would not put such tactics past some of your opponents, especially given the statements today. Very well, Ms Hauptman, I will set things in motion here, and get a copy of the standard contract to Ms Trevellyan. What about associated events? Any chance of a class visit or lecture?”

“Um. Maybe, sir, but I have a lot of balls in the air, just now, and will have other engagements in St Louis on the day. Something informal the day after, maybe, but I don’t want to agree and then have to let you down. Frank Lafferty could do a lecture on our education policy, though, and the compulsory school course we want, Others 101 — everything from boy and girl cooties to Quiltbag and preternaturals, on the principle that I do not need enemies to know who I am.”

“That’s a lecture I’d really like to hear.”

“I’ll ask Frank, and he’ll get back to you.”

That made for my next call, and after reassuring Frank about all the invective, and giving my assessment of how stupid it had been, with which he agreed, I laid out the new plan, including second and third strings. Ol’ Manitou River made him very happy, me being even more obvious bait much less so, but there we were. A lecture was no problem, and he had Jesse’s stuff from yesterday, with notes on recruitment paths, so it would be a good chance to lay out the developing policy. With one more box ticked I left him to call the Chancellor, and once Maya returned from Jenny’s I set about her and the Fishers, putting searches on overdrive, and then Alphas of major cities on the river and its larger tributaries. Bran would be asking all Alphas, but I wanted First People and African Americans who worked the river, or had, and I thought even the retired would mostly have stayed close. I wasn’t telling Alphas everything, yet, but put some urgency into it, and with Ol’ Manitou River having agreed the date anyone who fitted the bill could have the request properly explained. There were raised eyebrows, but calls would be made, wolves given orders, and I thanked them nicely. Tom Yearman in St Louis needed a fuller heads-up, so I asked him to stay connected and laid it out again.

“Hell’s teeth, Mercy. Has there been an attack already?”

“Yeah. I’m keeping shtum for good reasons, Tom, but di Ragusa is dust as of last night, and the timetable is shortening. Ol’ Manitou River will happen anyway, and the debate, or stump speech if the other candidates are sensible. The other might or might not, but making some assumptions I think it’s odds-on. There’ll be a _lot_ of preternaturals in my entourage.”

“I bet. Angus was so right. Darryl, too. Good luck.” He flicked pages of a desk diary. “Friday week, mmm. I can be clear all day, and twenty-plus wolves at WashU in the evening is no problem. Early afternoon at the Arch is trickier, though. Eight or ten, maybe, but more would be awkward.”

“Not a problem, Tom, and don’t give yourself headaches, please. Wolves I have — Freed as well as my own pack — so more perimeter isn’t urgent. What might be is numbers after vamps happen, if they do. Might be contained, but could be on the street somewhere. Who knows, but crowds, confused police, and reporters going crazy all seem probable. Leave most of your wolves at work but on call for emergency response?”

“Makes sense.” He scratched his head. “You’re thinking shots fired, dust in the wind?”

“Yeah. Silver shots too, maybe, if Lenka Yakovlevna’s involved.”

“Point. You pack silver?”

“And lead, wood, and other things. Mmm. What I don’t pack, though, is a white witch. Do you have one?”

“Afraid not.” He frowned. “Oh, for reversing her change if she’s dead?”

“Un huh. I’ll ask Angus about Moira Franklin.”

Tom was good with that, so I brought in Angus, already briefed by Bran, and called Moira, assuring both she wouldn’t have to be present, just available in case. As human she’d need to fly in, but flights were booked, and hospitality with the St Louis pack sorted for her and her husband. By then I’d had enough of phones, but I sent the Man a message asking him to call when he could, and asked Coyote, when he breezed in, to play Ol’ Manitou River as much Robert Johnson as there was, which amused him, while St Louis made him whistle.

“Friday week?” He thought about it. “Hmm. Get it right, strategic daughter, and you’ll be laughing.”

“Maybe. And if so, won’t campaigning from a position of strength be interesting? Advertising parameters might shift, but no discussing that as and until, please.”

“That I get. Stalking is quiet-time.”

Exactly right, and I smiled daughterly gratitude, posing the question about how to reward the oak, and what a praise-name might be.

“It Grows Through Vampires, of course. Or It Dismisses The Undead, I suppose, if it has those prickly fae ideas about language.”

“Huh. Those I’ll think about, If Tolkien was on the money, though, maybe it should be longer and accumulative. Great Oak of Underhill that Moved Overhill and Slew the Would-be Assassin of the Self-deluded Roman Dictator of the Undead. Or whatever.”

“Maybe, but there’s no end to that. And for all we know, including the soil Ph it prefers might please it better. Good for idle moments, though.”

More meantime was taken up by an unexpected call from the Director of the CIA, bearing a gift I’d asked for, in the shape of licenses for me, Adam, Jesse, Brent, Dan, and the Joes to carry, concealed and otherwise, in every state. David Christiansen had told me they’d done as much for him and his boys when they got into the rescue business, and with the weapons I might be carrying escalating and a bunch of campaign touring inevitable the idea had come back to me. Adam and Brent already had some states, but now it was all fifty, and Puerto Rico, with blades of any length also covered. Plastic copies would be couriered in, but all were already in effect, and I made gratitude plain.

“No problem, Ms Hauptman, and our righteous pleasure.” He hesitated. “Any comment on that statement today?”

“All the better to eat you with, Mr Director. Exactly as anticipated. More detail on Wednesday, and you’ll want to keep Friday week clear.”

“Because?”

“Payback. Wait and see.”

“Right. More fun that way. But I’ve seen the footage from last night, Ms Hauptman, and I’m still trying to absorb it. The way you read scenes so fast is very impressive. As were your responses, down the line.”

More wonder I could do without, but we talked Italy for a few minutes, so he learned a bit more about Plan B possibilities, and I learned he’d reinforced CIA presence there and would respond helpfully, if and when. We were just done when the phone rang, and I put the Man on screen.

“We’re strictly one-on-one, sir?”

“We are, Ms Hauptman. Last night or that sorry show today?”

“Both, sir, and Ol’ Manitou River, now a confirmed name. A heads-up and the usual request for opinion, very seriously to go nowhere else at all.”

“OK. Shoot.” He listened with surprise, calculation, and amusement tempered by worry. “Hoo boy. Let me see.” He sat motionless, thinking, then raised fingers. “One, so far as I can tell, I agree about Bonarata, especially if that Plan B bit happens. Two, I also agree about the idiot show today, and an early debate offer is way smart. You could whack them sideways anyway, but putting it right after saying hi to Ol’ Manitou River is icing a mile thick, and if the other shoe drops, ten miles. Three, yes, I can and will have people on standby if, including myself. But, four, should I not be there to say Hi to the Mississippi Basin?”

“Your call, sir. You’re welcome, but if I’m walking provocatively down a dark alley, where are you? And if it does happen, I would be calling you to say _Geronimo_ , so you need to be where you can push the button. Plus, political distancing, however it looks specious from more than one angle. Fly in next day to say hi back yourself?”

“Points, Ms Hauptman. Valid ones, so yes, provisionally.” He thought some more, smile widening. “You are seriously good at lining up ducks, and though I’m not sure it’s remotely rational, last night has … assuaged my fear of the risks you’re running, some at least. Coyote said you were on another roll, and I agree. Wiseman and the AED were singing your praises when they reported this morning, not only for your cooking, and the whole Others 101 thing has me thinking them myself.” The smile widened further. “Good chaos won’t be the half of it. And high time.” He sobered. “But I again second the AED and Chair, Ms Hauptman. Steel-spined does not cover it. Why aren’t you terrified witless?”

“Who says I’m not, Mr President? But running from predators on two legs rarely works, and I’ve been fighting vamps since I was 18, one way or another. Fussing doesn’t help anyone.”

“Fussing.” Something bleeped. “I have to go, but roll on Wednesday, , and I wish you all luck and good fortune. I do admire you, you know.”

The break in calling let locks disengage, admitting Jesse, plus Dan and the Joes, to say things at school had been calmer, if not by so much after the DC statement, reactions ranging from indignation to weary unsurprise at adult failure to be anything except kneejerk stupid. Jesse’s guards had met Jill at breakfast, but Jesse hadn’t had much chance to say more than hi, and having spilled immediate concerns asked her about her day.

Jill quirked an eyebrow. “I am having the least boring day I’ve had in a millennium, Jesse Hauptman. It’s been hard not to hear tales of She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars this last year or two, but seeing her about it is something else. I hear you met those you call graunts.”

“I did, Jill. They agreed things had _really_ gone sideways with me, but seemed good with it, as I certainly am. I liked them a lot.”

“Why am I not surprised? You call Coyote Gramps, as you’re Graught?”

“Un huh. We’re one big happy family.”

Jill did something bearlike with her shoulders. “Coyotes. Step-sideways. Seriously not-boring. And Mercy thinking spirit-fast on her feet. You can’t say Momma was wrong, girl.”

I blinked, something clicking. “Bear’s your _mother_?”

“She is, and it might be one reason for my age. More to the point, though, Mercy, is that with this much of interest happening, there should be decent husband material around somewhere. Momma said I was ripe for number thirty-two, and I am — preternatural or human, any age or colour. I’ve voted strange before, so no parameters except male and mostly sane. Any ideas?” She eyed Brent. “Muscle and speed are always good. Which way do you swing?”

I quite enjoyed the ensuing silence.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

Staying inside was annoying, but working out burned calories and I did not lack occupation. Top of the list was practical security with Jill, who did not have my problem with changing when clothed, which was getting tangled up — removing a bra from a coyote middle when you’re the coyote is not so easy — but did have another, which was destroying whatever she was wearing, Incredible Hulk style but faster. Her bear was a great deal more grizzly than black, as in Kodiak-sized, and Widepaw just a fact, but she was averse both to wearing things she didn’t care about in public and destroying things she did. I’d been thinking about it since my conversation with Coyote, and with Jill’s intrigued consent called in the woman who’d made clothing for the earth fae. Closures rather than seams, strong enough to hold up normally but parting under sufficient pressure solved one side of it, and though an outfit might be reassembled a spare was sensible and with engineered fabrics could be made so light, crumple-free, and compressible she could pack it in a pocket. It would work for Joel too.

With delivery promised for Friday, we headed to the basement and worked through scenarios, on two legs and four, with Brent and wolves from both packs, until everyone had a sense of her movement and speed, and she of theirs. Grizzlies were fast and strong, and avatars had abnormal speed, but it was bulk with speed that made them game-enders for humans, in paw- and body-slamming, and not much less of a challenge for wolves — but they could twist better, and had mouths that opened wider with purely predatory teeth, as well as the bear-like shoulder joints that allowed them to paw-slam themselves and shift where claws might dig in. I was always going to be better off on two legs using the Glock, with whatever loads, but when other wolves left, and it was down to me, Jill, and Brent, I introduced her to Skuffles, intrigued but sorry to have missed seeing the oak do its thing. We did updating all round, meaning Wednesday and St Louis, and I learned with mixed feelings many fae were passing through the Garden of Manannán’s Death to see giant nude ice me, almost always in silence.

_Admiring silence, mostly, Mercy. The fae don’t care about nudity. And heroic statues are often pretty naked. Blame the Greeks._

“I do. How’s the preternatural grapevine about the ultimatum and Borrowed Warchest?”

_Ask the earth fae. Knowing I’m you, others get shy when I’m around._

I gave her a sceptical look. “Shy? Or cautious?”

_Who knows? Either way it’s respectful, Mercy. And all are agog with anticipation. It is a great deal more interesting than not._

I couldn’t argue, but when Skuffles had shown off her dentitions again and vanished Jill gave me a very long look.

“ _What_ kind of magic is she?”

“A sending reinforced with glamour, helped out by a bunch of other borrowed and stolen magics. A coyote remix. And a serious hole-card.”

“I’ll say. Urgh. Momma did mention her, but I should have known that twinkle in her eye. And what naked statue?”

I reluctantly fired up the laptop and showed her, covering embarrassment by making hot chocolate, which fooled no-one but was welcome enough after burning calories.

“Well … coo.” I had to grin. “That looks like a good fight to have won, coyote-girl.”

“You could say.”

“And even if you’re more naked than you’d like, which I understand, other worlds putting up statues of you has to be called good for the CV.”

“Yeah, maybe. I just have … issues.”

“Who doesn’t?” She considered me a moment. “In any case, it’s more seriously not-boring, which is good. What’s next?”

I was glad to shift topics. “Admin, alas, but these days that’s also less boring than you’d think.”

Saving an interlude when a CIA courier delivered the fat bundle of licenses, most of Tuesday’s daylight was spent with volunteers, now augmented, and various Freed, briefing on what I’d be saying Wednesday, St Louis minus vamps but with Ol’ Manitou River, which sat them up, plus Others 101, ditto. I made lots of grateful noises about all the work being done — billboards, social media, targeted mail shots, and door-to-door canvassing were normal, but having a database of tens of millions of newly pledged votes wasn’t, and the website asked for email addresses, so we needed to get something out to all those nice voters. Some interesting geeky argument resulted in a two-shot — a shorter email of thanks, welcome aboard, and let’s go for it, with the basic campaign poster in Anglo and She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars versions, plus links to download HD in several sizes, and a longer email, for those interested, with solid policy discussion, including ecology, SAGE, Jenny’s draft texts of constitutional amendments, and hints about surprises in store.

Once home, Jesse was also in on things, to bring in kiddos and ex-kiddos, and what she was up to had volunteers attending hard and making interested noises. Children all over, including First People, had been sitting parents down and grilling them on voting priorities, pushing green necessity, preternatural co-operation, and not being shot by nutcases while at school, which was hard to argue with. Others had been nagging or flat-out demanding parents register, and make a vote count, as well as pushing school pre-registration drives, juniors and seniors providing transport and guidance with bureaucracy. Ramona having given permission, Jesse had Freed involved, experience giving their voices palpable weight, and their arguments were pithy. Knowing exactly what it was to be helpless, and that things really could change radically if people pulled together, they were impatient with _voting isn’t worth it_ whines, and tore into some Silicon Valley mumblings about stoicism — a fine philosophy when locked in a cage and being tortured that sucked as a reason for not getting off your butt and fixing a problem you could.

Some posts were being cited in other reporting, and people were building on that. Plans for the schools’ intranet had leaped forward, and if the line between reporting and supporting were getting blurry, it wasn’t as if anyone would expect Jesse not to be in favour, and a lot of people wanted to know what she thought. She’d also defused some of the scaremongering in DC, with a tart observation that yeah, werewolves were moonbound, like that had stopped her dad running a major, very successful security company for more than thirty years, and anyway, he went hunting a lot less often than senators went golfing. It generated an avalanche of retweets and laughing approval, and made Adam laugh when I told him.

My electoral inexperience was harder to deny, but I had no intention of trying. The whole point was to do things differently, being green was not an argument against, and what others called raw also meant clean, or at least cleaner, what stains I had being equally different. A conversation when Washington and Oregon called in the evening settled my heart some more, for they agreed with me and one another that their parties had not done well, fright and bigotry unhappily on display. I bemused them by suggesting Basin State governors, having been singled out by both parties, launch a joint legal challenge to the imposition of a double standard unreasonably in their favour, inviting those it disadvantaged to join them.

“Keep changing the rules. It’s our strength, their weakness. And take high ground with a smile. Didn’t they all look so earnest yesterday?”

“They did.” A half-smile made it onto Oregon’s face. “That’s … really sharp, Ms Hauptman. Certainly the best strategy anyone’s suggested to me. How do you intend to respond?”

“Mostly with an offer they’d be wise to refuse, but probably won’t.” I told them about St Louis, minus vamps but plus manitou, adding assurances the Man was aware before asking how they thought those thirty-two governors would respond. “Timing’s tight, because I won’t be making Ol’ Manitou River public until early next week, when Medicine Wolf’s been able to pass on some more … let’s say orientation. Maximally informed is good, and I wouldn’t want to give rivals a heads-up too soon. But I figure any governor ought to be able to make a meeting with a new Great Manitou on a few days’ notice. Even the premiers of Alberta and Saskatchewan.”

“Yes.” Washington sounded faint, and Oregon was staring. “I don’t know all of them well, but I’d be very surprised if they didn’t drop everything and come running. Flood control for pollution control?”

“Pollution stop, sir, as far as possible, plus serious clean up the bigger basin. That’s straightforward, if humongous. Levees aren’t, and I don’t yet know what is and isn’t possible. Serious hydro-engineering conference somewhere soon, and you’re among very few governors with experience of a great-manitou interface. Joint statement by this Basin’s governors, offering that experience to colleagues of any party?”

They liked that, while I liked cross-party co-operation when it came to manitous and the preternatural in general, so I added Others 101 and recruitment streams for Farouts and other federal agencies.

“You might want to think about that for state agencies, and bring in mayors, PD and FD chiefs. But going back to those not-so-simple levees, the racial charge they and the whole Mississippi carry, given its history, are a big reason its great manitou will manifest as a manitou of colour. Think hard about this one, please. Settlement of the Mississippi Basin by Second People saw the worst of the Indian Wars, slaughter of bison, and the major expansion of slavery that led to all the Blues mean, from the Delta to Chicago. Ol’ Man River kept rolling along, but Ol’ Manitou River is gonna stand up very tall indeed and say _basta_ on pollution. I imagine smart Anglo responses will be in short supply, but you could each make one.”

“Huh. Any definition of smart?”

“Humble, aware, pleased, a chance to insist Black and Amerindian Lives Matter. I am not looking for narrow politics, but a lot of my support is ethnic protest votes.”

“Yeah. It’s honest, and works for you.” Oregon seemed to have got her head round it. “You’re very good at making decisions on the fly, and if this one’s blown me away, again, I’m starting to like it a lot. A second great manitou is almost a relief.” She sat up. “And it drives a truck through the Columbia Basin exemption.”

“I noticed that. File that suit no later than the weekend, hey?”

“Damn right we will.” I got a shrewd look. “And that other thing — is that going to break sooner or later, if you know?”

“Not my call, truly. But I now think sooner.”

“OK. Bonus or trouble when it does?”

“Either or both, depending. But I can’t say more. Lives are on the line.”

“Of course. We should talk about moving I84 and the railroad.”

I gathered engineers bemusedly agreed the plans were workable if tunnels and wider roadbed really did just appear, and I’d been right about their ability, suitably bribed, to acquire asphalting machines from all over. I checked with Medicine Wolf and Irpa, and a weekend early in June was agreed, giving a month for warnings I84 and the railroad would be closed for 48 hours but coming in ahead of re-emergence at the Solstice. I hadn’t been worrying about what tunnels should be called, but it was fun to ponder, and when the governors rang off I passed the question on.

The mood changed when Adam’s clever software told us half-a-dozen vamps were working around our perimeter, never close enough to alert patrolling wolves, and subsequently watched for a while from scrubland beyond the remaining rump of the media pack, waiting on tomorrow.

“Recon?”

“I’d think. Timing’s right.”

“Yeah. But they don’t know we can see them.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

While we watched the cold blue outlines shimmering onscreen I called ap Lugh. Underhill had the GPS co-ordinates and images she needed, and could react at once, and he welcomed proper introduction to Jill, and had news. The virus had done very expensive damage to the vamp bank’s mainframe, wiping ones and zeroes while alerting Italian and other authorities and media with emailed data, so any number of questions were being asked by rapidly increasing crowds of agitated reporters, police, and bureaucrats. Thanks to one chunk of leaked data multiple arrests had been made in connection with human trafficking, and victims in transit rescued from trucks, a happy bonus. So was the credit cards in di Ragusa’s wallet all having been issued through the bank, so it was likely a lot of vamps would need new plastic — more hassle compounding massive loss of liquidity, and it would only get worse.

Ap Lugh was in the room in Walla Walla he often used, and as the wait stretched, vamps remaining motionless, he poured himself something pale in a beautifully chased silver goblet and sat back.

“Confining yourself, Mercedes, you will not have been listening to preternatural gossip, but your courage and style are widely admired. The Borrowed Warchest has almost everyone laughing, even those with little interest in money, and chimes with your pure scorn in speaking to Bonarata. That impressed even male trolls.”

“So I can add She Impresses Boy Trolls to my list of names, then. Huh. What are male trolls good for, Gwyn ap Lugh?”

“If you wish, Mercy, though I would not bother, and for the most part not much that I or any female trolls have ever discovered, barring eating things and occasional impregnation. Thor never cared for them at all, and even speaking kindly they tend strongly to the dim and quarrelsome. A few brighter ones are Overhill — Anna Cornick met one in Seattle, over that business — but most are best kept away from humans.”

“Right. Oh, and the tunnels at Celilo Falls have a date.”

As Pirandella hadn’t got back to me yet I took the chance to ask him about my translation problem. Both eyebrows went up, but we passed time with finer points of pronunciation, the merits of archaic Welsh, and the interesting question of names in translation. I got looks from Jill, but at last the vamps departed, vanishing from the screen, and Adam nodded.

“The chances of Mercy being right about tomorrow night are getting higher, Gwyn ap Lugh. They’ll need to immobilise wolves on guard while trying to open a way in that isn’t a threshold. We were thinking they would be more sophisticated, but if di Ragusa thought he could shoot through my windows — and why carry the rifle if he wasn’t hoping? — Marsilia is staying shtum, or filtering what she says, as well as Wulfe and Stefan. So I wonder if they will also try for windows. Either way, it must start with taking out wolves, and silver sniping will kill so I need to pull them in. Are those fetches available?”

I’d known about the request, and was interested to learn that though fetches were usually made as changelings, they could look like whatever the fae making one wanted. There was discussion of vamp speed, the sort of distance they might rush from, and Underhill’s ability to time things, ending with ap Lugh’s promise that Edythe would come by during the day, discreetly, to make fetches, and come sunset she or another Gray Lord able to bespeak Underhill directly would be present. With that sorted, Adam went to speak to wolves, and though I disliked going to bed without him I needed to be sharp tomorrow, and increasingly wanted sleep. For about two minutes, lying alone in the dark, I really missed fixing clonky old German cars for not enough money, but I was asleep before Adam came up, waking only enough to snuggle in to his warmth and slide back into a dream of Celilo Falls thundering triumphantly again, so loudly I couldn’t think of anything else.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One**

The house seemed oddly quiet next morning, because volunteers had shifted to office-space downtown, but it didn’t last. Caroline’s and Penny’s crews had tech set-ups to do again, so they arrived in good time, and by then, welcoming the outing, I’d made a round trip by cloak with Brent and Jill to collect Jeremiah Stourbridge from Lexington and Frank from Philadelphia. Outward bound, I’d sat resignedly on a bench for a few minutes after naming Jill to Underhill, while she stared at the Fountain of Uphill Justice and walked round the statue. Coming back, first time, Jeremiah, who’d been changed older than Adam and looked thirty-something, was nervy of my magic and dominance — he was high-middle — and in a complicated mood, both reluctant and excited. Once in the Garden, though, he took one look and flushed, looking away.

“Good God!”

“Un huh. Underhill does as it will, Jeremiah, and the statue is accurate, but that’s all I’m saying except please be very careful whom you tell. Adam and Jesse have seen it, and Bran, but I do _not_ want publicity about it.”

I went to collect Frank, whom I had let Andrea tell about the statue and sensibly kept shtum despite a long stare, and when we got back Warren had arrived with Kyle, mutual bicentenarian encouragement proving a happy distraction. Then Irpa blew in, all Ms Thorsden in a sleeveless dress that showed off tattoo-Skuffles, and took an instant liking to Jill. Jeremiah she greeted cordially, Warren warmly, and we sat round the kitchen table, running through today and their campaign launches Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. It actually sounded fun, and though I couldn’t entirely avoid discussion of St Louis managed to keep it to Ol’ Manitou River, with what Basin State governors might be doing, and the truck it drove through the main parties’ strategy. Whacking them with sticks had always been a plan, but listening I realised Monday’s huffing invective, though directed almost entirely at me and Adam, had hardened their attitudes. It was nice but a risk, and I reminded them that I wanted ridicule more than stomping, except with vamps.

“It’s all timing. Trail bait today, let Basin governors throw a righteous spanner in the works, build pressure with each launch, and pull the rug from under announcing Ol’ Manitou River Monday or Tuesday. We can have them running in circles for weeks, handed their heads still clucking, and you can use it to embarrass individual opponents very nicely.”

They took the point, and when Coyote breezed in to wish me luck I sat him down with brownies and got him to inject some pretty good billboard and video ideas into their campaigns. It gave me a chance to take out my nerves, more vamp than electoral, in some baking, and by the time Caroline and Penny arrived I had gingerbread and steaming banana-bread to offer. When I went to change Coyote drifted upstairs with me.

“Some good news to set against your nerves, musical daughter. Ol’ Manitou River says you have a point about Robert Johnson, and wants more Blues. I said I’d bring a copy of your library, but it’ll take a while, right?”

“Uh huh. It’s several hundred gigs, so a few hours to copy to a hard drive. Or just copy to another iMac, if you can plug it in wherever the manifestation is. Ask one of the volunteers downtown.” I gave him the address. “What about playing an instrument?”

“It’s thinking about that, but likes the idea. So do I. Rivers have songs so why shouldn’t they sing them in more ways than one?”

“No argument here. I’m just …”

“Yeah, I know. Dying sucks, even when you come back, and Joe wasn’t the first time bloodsuckers got me. But you have a serious chance of making it the last, ex-kiddo, there is more magical protection around this house than I’ve ever seen, and your aunts send you love and say they’ll make sure the spirits stay alert, not that they’ll need to.”

He drifted out, leaving me to change, and he’d again managed to say exactly the right thing, calling me ex-kiddo and mentioning my not-exactly aunts. I picked another Amerindian outfit, a dyed skirt and dull golden blouse with a deerskin bolero, added cloak, feather, and Carnwennan, and headed down with a clear head and full heart. The tech was set, and this time there wasn’t that little hitch in time as I held the remote, saw transmission lights flash on, and waited for Caroline and Penny to roll out their intro. Frank, Irpa, Jeremiah, and Warren waited off-camera.

“Ms Hauptman, I bet we’d be back here today to hear you announce, and with more than forty-five million pledged votes and ten-buck donations, and SAGE past ten million members, I imagine I was right.” Penny leaned back. “Ms Taylor and I spent the week watching numbers, and trying to understand the shape this election is taking.”

“One thing is how active wolves and half-fae are being, nationwide. Alphas have always given interviews, but a lot of others have been joining in.” Caroline looked the question. “Wolf security seems to be way up, too.”

“Because it is, Ms Taylor. I hope we turned a corner when Cantrip and Heuter went down, but stirring up haters is a real risk, and we know they’ll happily target human spouses and children, so yeah, all wolves and half-fae are taking precautions. As to your other implicit question, I’ve said no wolf gets told how to vote, and they don’t, ever, but yes, Alphas all knew what was coming, they endorse me, and asked pack-members also on board to do what they might. My thanks to them all.”

“Right.” Penny leaned in again. “You said you’d be silent for a week, and have been, saving the business of the Freed Pack’s new trees and earth fae, with your stinging rebuke to media who harass them. And my thanks for that — it was well said. But Monday there was a lot of really unpleasant … I’ll say vitriol, within the Beltway, and some bitterly personal attacks you’ve left unanswered, honouring your promise to give everyone a week, but they must have stung. Now you can answer them, though.”

“Can and will, Ms Ligatt, but not right now. SOP bigotry from both main parties does not get to dictate my agenda, however they need to think _very_ carefully about inciting haters, and we have better things to do than rehash squawking from yesterday’s tired men.” I gave a wry smile. “And they _were_ all Anglo men, did you notice? Interesting slip, and it won’t be their last. But as I say, they can wait, and you’re right my question to everyone, _Are you serious?_ , has been very strongly answered in the affirmative. So thank you all, and yes, I’m running. Jenny Trevellyan is filing legal papers as I speak, and a bunch of lawyers are doing as much for those already on my slate. So it’s time for some introductions.”

Frank was first up, and after some q.-and-a. from Penny and Caroline about his CV and motives, we turned to his brief with Others 101 and what he was calling the Magical Entente.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ms Ligatt, Ms Taylor. Because I am deeply fascinated by and open to the preternatural does not mean I am ignorant of or blind to its dangers. There are things, human and preternatural, that eat children, and children need to know about them. There are also things, human and preternatural, that menace adults, and adults need to know about _them._ But as the Paths of the Manitou, Assertion, and Mercy have shown very clearly, there are also truly amazing opportunities in not being stupid or needlessly fearful about it, and as a teacher the chance to help ensure we take those opportunities, to benefit all, is not one I can pass up. Everyone has a right to their opinions, but we can and will at least try to make sure they have their facts straight. Others 101 will give children clear truths to think about, defusing fear of otherness with knowledge and experience, so they don’t need enemies to know who they are. The Magical Entente is more for adults who’d like some of that knowledge and experience too, and will offer safe spaces where they can gain it. And overall, it’s simple, because if we spent less time and energy hating one another, and more co-operating, we might actually be able to save our planet, as well as having a much nicer time all round.”

Tying green policies to preternatural co-operation was common sense, but gave the main parties a headache because they couldn’t afford not to sound green. Caroline brought in the Magical Entente as an anti-JLS move without Frank or I having to say anything, and we were happy to agree a way for preterophiles and those willing to co-operate to meet and have voices heard mattered, insisting it would continue whatever the electoral outcome. Then Irpa joined us, and real fun started.

“Most humans have seen me full-size, Ms Taylor, when I gave you that interview last year. This is my human-size glamour, because I don’t fit in the room otherwise. And no, I don’t know how it works, just that it does. Dropping glamour selectively isn’t easy, but in case anyone has doubts …”

She concentrated, and one arm was abruptly full-size, still impossibly joined to her body, tattoo-Skuffles skittering as what had looked bicep shifted to pentacep. Once the arm had shrunk again it gave Irpa a look as it settled back down.

“Troll-size alright, Ms Thorsden. And you’re here because?”

“I’m a US citizen, Ms Taylor, as well as full-blood fae. I’ve lived in Haight-Ashbury since 1930, because I helped build the Bay Bridge and Golden Gate and you gotta love them both. Last year I saw Mercy pull off serious statecraft while rescuing all those beings, we’ve become friends, and I agree completely that maintaining the Medicine Wolf Accords is a) critical, and b) not something I’d trust any of those we heard spewing in DC to do. So as one ought to put one’s money where one’s mouth is, I’m running for Congress in California’s 12th Federal Ward, where I live.”

She gave a troll grin, and both reporters stiffened.

“But that’s …”

“Yes, it is. Game on, Ms Ligatt. Now, a troll’s CV gets complicated after a century or twelve, but there’s a version on my website” — I brought up the URL, [www.TrustTrollsWithBridges](http://www.trusttrollswithbridges/), not hiding a grin — “and for now I’ll say that I really don’t know exactly how old I am, pre-history not being so good with dates, but not less than several thousand, by Overhill time. Like all female trolls, my father is Thor and my mother was a giantess, but that was all long before he was being the Thor in Norse stories, so it’s complicated as well as irrelevant. What isn’t is that I seriously know my California 12th, and have very clear ideas about what is and is not good for it, at local, state, and federal levels. I’ve spoken at length to Medicine Wolf about the Cascadia Event, and to Mercy and others. All that’s on the website, and I’ll be speaking plainly in Haight-Ashbury tomorrow and throughout the campaign. Right now, though, it’s my pleasure and privilege to introduce another member of Mercy’s slate, Jeremiah Stourbridge.”

He was holding down nerves but it’s always easier when waiting is over, and he had a _lot_ of experience, even if this was a new one.

“My name is Jeremiah Stourbridge, and I am a werewolf. Changing now would take too long, but there is an image of my wolf on my website” — I put [www.TheVoiceOfExperience](http://www.thevoiceofexperience/) on screen — “and I can demonstrate my metabolism and strength.”

 _Living Free and Moonbound_ had shown wolves’ rapid healing of cuts and bruises, and the small slice Jeremiah made on the back of his hand with a penknife was barely visible in seconds. Penny nodded.

“Wolf healing.”

Jeremiah had brought a solid brass poker, which he handed to Caroline to test, before effortlessly bending it into a U.

“And wolf strength. OK, Mr Stourbridge, you’re a werewolf. And you’re part of Mercy’s slate where?”

He took a breath. “I was born in 1738, in England, and came to this country in 1882. I have lived in Lexington since 1885, working as an architect, and I am running for one of Kentucky’s federal senate seats.”

“You’re … 281 years old.”

“I am.”

“And Kentucky. That’s …”

“As Irpa said, Ms Taylor, yes it is. I have seen the American system work quite well, and less well, and, as at present, fail to work very badly indeed. I do not think well of the incumbent I challenge, for whom I have not voted since he first ran, and though not all of my politics and sensibilities are like Mercy’s, I agree with every one of her core policies. We must uphold the Medicine Wolf Accords, and recover a national sense of honour. We must be much greener or our children have no future. SAGE is a far better idea than the mess the NRA has become, and I was happy to switch. And anyone with a brain knows what passes for federal drugs policy is not working. Kentucky certainly knows it, with Oxycontin alone. But that is a symptom of the fact that both main parties and the system they jointly run are broken, not fit for purpose, and actively doing harm, so in running for ourselves we are also running against both of them.”

“Which is the point, Ms Ligatt, Ms Taylor.” I made a balancing gesture, hands open. “We are an alternative, in every sense, to both partisan and blinkered sides, because we need one. The governors of Washington and Oregon said it a week ago, ignoring party lines and rivalry to second the President, and we know forty-five million voters and counting agree. But then there was Monday, with its dismal showing from both parties and most declared candidates, which told me none of them were thinking straight.” Or at all. “Announcing Ms Thorsden’s and Mr Stourbridge’s candidacies today, in those particular races, while completely honest and upfront, is also a way of telling majority and minority leaders in DC they have serious trouble at home they haven’t begun to tackle, and they’re up against history, also in every sense.”

“I’ll say.” Caroline shook her head. “This has to have been set up before Monday, but it’s a stinging answer to that joint statement.”

“Just a side-benefit of being ahead of the curve, Ms Taylor. And I do have another response to Monday, but it can wait, because I have one more member of my slate to introduce.”

Warren had finally let Kyle do something about his wardrobe, and was looking very sharp in a charcoal-gray suit, but had drawn the line at full neckties and wore a western one.

“Warren Smith is a wolf in the Columbia Basin Pack, presently Adam’s third, though we’ll revisit that when he is elected to the Washington State senate. This is not only about federal races, and as we’re a democracy power is bottom-up not top-down, or should be. Warren?”

He faced the camera. “I’ve used Smith for a long time, and it’s my legal name, but I had no birth surname. My father was just Ploughman or Farmer, because that was what he did until he was Changed and came to this continent in the 1760s. I was born in what was then Spanish Territory and is now Missouri in 1776, and after my siblings died of smallpox a bit over two centuries back I came west, working as a cowboy, mostly, for smaller ranches, and I’ve stayed west. Been here in the Tri-Cities forty years now, as a loner, then with Adam’s pack. And I need to say something about that, because the main reason I was a lone wolf so long and safer out on the range is that I’m gay, and a lot of wolves are not so happy with that. Like a lot of people. But the last few years have been very good, thanks to my partner, who is human and accepts me as a gay wolf, and to Mercy and Adam, who have a serious track-record in fighting bigotry. The Accords were on another scale, but in keeping. And I’m running here in Washington State, for several reasons beyond those Mr Lafferty, Ms Thorsden, and Mr Stourbridge articulated, though I echo them all.

“First, and most important, I’m already involved in things Mercy is helping with here — the Columbia Restoration, the impetus it’s giving First People all along the rivers, working with the Freed, forensics stuff with Tri-Cities PDs, _Clean Up the Basin!_ , smaller stuff — and I want all to prosper. If she is elected, as I hope and expect, she will not have time to spend in-state, but I will. So second, as a state senator I can be a useful link for President Hauptman, the Columbia Basin Pack, and other preternaturals as well as humans in local, state, and Pacific North-Western matters. And third, I have strong feelings and ideas about some of those. My partner is a lawyer who deals with domestic violence, divorce, and child custody, and there’s a lot that could and should be done about how we handle those. I hold a PI license, so I also have interests in security, privacy, and policing. Details are on my shiny new website.”

I brought up [www.BornWithTheUSA](http://www.bornwiththeusa/), and both reporters blinked.

“With, not in. And you were. 1776.”

“Un huh, Ms Ligatt. Doesn’t matter legally, as I’m not running for president, but Missouri wasn’t there to be born in, though the land and my parents were. And birth certificates hadn’t been invented, even if there’d been anyone around to issue one.” Penny’s eyes went wide with shock, followed by amusement. “But I was here when the Thirteen Colonies decided they’d become States, and I’ve seen Thirteen become Fifty, kicking and screaming all the way. I fought First People when I had to, which wasn’t often, and Second People likewise, which was commoner. Spaniards for a while, then other Anglos — I was Union in the Civil War, but far west — and homophobes of any stripe all along, if they tried to bring it on. But I found a home at last, here and with the Pack, in a state I’ve come to love and believe I can do some good for, as a small part of this second revolution we’re having.”

“Second … yeah, I guess. How was the first?”

Warren grinned. “I was only seven in 1783, Ms Taylor, and still in not-yet-Missouri. How should I know what was really said or done in Concord? Mr Stourbridge will have seen contemporary reports from the reverse angle, of course, and I can add my dad regretted all that tea when he heard about it. Had a taste for it. I do have true stories about Buffalo Calf Road Woman, but those are for another occasion. And the first Roosevelt, Teddy, when he swung out west to play cowboy.”

I knew how hard doing that had been for Warren, not least through pack bonds, and I’d been sending warm approval, noting many Pack doing the same. Eyes and cameras came back to me as I straightened.

“So there you have it, everyone. Coyote-girls campaign differently, as do First People, trolls, bicentenarian werewolves, and sensible humans who know we need to go right on pushing hard at green change, preternatural co-operation, and a bunch more. So you’ll be seeing these going up around the place.” I brought up the main campaign poster, going to voiceover, and Caroline and Penny let out quiet _oohs_. “Good pictures, aren’t they? Coyote chose them. There’s also this version, with my Amerindian name.”

Caroline and Penny laughed openly, and I took the poster down.

“Quite right, Ms Ligatt. Laughter matters. One way I’ll campaign differently is that I’m good-humoured. Jokes can be _very_ educational, as well as bad, or even both at once, as the main parties showed Monday.” There were grins, and I held up a warning finger. “What the National Committee chairs said regarding what they’re proposing to do about party members who have endorsed me is their business. The Basin doesn’t need a new double standard and it’s a lousy idea, but even so. The candidates who spoke, though, were walking attack-ads, and besides being _ad feminam_ , because as a woman I’m obviously a fragile flower and destined homebody, and _ad lupinam_ , Adam as wolf seeming to knot their boxers, they were all what I can only call _ad coyote-am_ , there not being a Latin word for coyotes. And d’oh! The only variation was whether a coyote-girl is more unsuitable because she’s a coyote or a girl, and that’s just bigotry. But there is a serious issue to debate about _this_ coyote-girl, and on the few occasions any rivals said anything substantive they harped on my inexperience, supposed ignorance, and alleged inability to cope with the demands any president must.”

This smile had more edges.

“Now, they are of course genuinely ignorant of a lot I’ve done and am doing, and it’ll mostly stay that way, but even among things that are public domain they were cherry-picking like crazy. Yes, I helped kill Cantrip, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’ve also wrangled human and preternatural authorities, worked closely with the FBI, Secret Service, Tri-Cities PDs, Washington and Oregon assemblies, Yakama Nation, Wyoming, over the Freed and Heuter’s trial, and all the Basin states, plus Canadian provinces. I’ll also bet I’d get more personal respect from any group of serving soldiers you can produce than any of them. And I’ve certainly had more power assembled round my table than any of them has ever seen, and I don’t only mean when the Medicine Wolf Accords were negotiated. So yeah, I refute their arguments, such as they were, with their bigotries, and so we can put it properly to the test, in the traditional way, I’ve set up an early TV debate. The Chancellor of Washington University in St Louis has very kindly made the Athletics Complex, where many campaign debates have been held, available on 9 May, a week Friday, for a 7.30 Central-time start. WashU are handling moderation independently, all networks can have the feed at standard rates, and I invite _all_ declared candidates, including those for some reason excluded Monday, to come and make proper arguments.” I let my smile warm again. “An honest offer, honestly made, and I’ll be there in any case, so if no-one else dares show I expect I can find helpful and entertaining ways to use the airtime.”

“Uh, me too, Ms Hauptman. Will others of your slate be present?”

“Present, yes, but the debate is for presidential candidates. I don’t believe anyone else yet has a complete ticket anyway, and it’s me they were all trying to gang-up on. It was quite rude to Frank, really.”

“They’ll get round to it, Mercy.” Frank had a good line in wry grins. “But I strongly second everything you’ve said about Monday’s sorry spectacle of same old, same old, and its underlying bigotries. Or not so underlying. Either way, our dodgy rivals should put up, which I doubt they can, or shut up, though not before apologising.”

“That’ll be the day, but yeah, it’s not a good sign their first response was to make it personal, with not one word about any of our policies except SAGE, and they should take the chance to remedy that I’m so kindly offering. They can talk the talk, God knows, but can they walk the walk? I can, and have, and am. A lot of people are glad to take my calls, not just the President, Marrok, Gray Lords, Elder Spirits, and Medicine Wolf. How many want to take a call from any of them?” I smiled straight at Al’s camera. “But let’s boil it down one more time, before we wrap. I asked you all if you were serious, and you’ve said yes, loud and clear. OK. Now let’s all ask those Monday moaners if _they’re_ serious. Send them emails, hey? Come to St Louis Friday week, or we’ll know you’re running scared. A list of emails will come on screen, and it’s on the front page of my website. And our campaign show will go on, Haight-Ashbury tomorrow, 3 p.m. Pacific in Golden Gate Park’s Bison Paddock, Lexington Friday, 3 p.m. Eastern in the Rupp Arena, and here in the Tri-Cities Saturday 3 p.m. Pacific, at Sacajawea State Park.” I took a breath, thinking of Jesse. “There’s one more thing, for post-Parkland folks struggling with SAGE and creatively wondering how magic might protect schoolkids, which is serious thanks, and a request to read the piece on my website. Bottom line, magic has parameters, but there _are_ things it can do to help. I didn’t invent the Path of Mercy, but it is partly named for me, and can work as well nationwide as it is in the Pacific North-West. Let’s make that happen, and thank you all for listening today.”

I waited until Caroline and Penny had done a wrap, and put the list of eddresses up. Credits bannered and we relaxed as cameras were set down.

Penny blew out a long breath. “Can’t say I’ve ever wondered what happens if you put a troll and two wolves older than the US among the pigeons, but we’re going to find out, and I don’t think it’ll be pretty.”

“Not a chance.” Irpa gave a smile I thought toll-dodgers might recognise, briefly. “Fun’s another story, though.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

As the day wore on the silence of the pigeons was back to deafening, even when Basin governors who’d endorsed me showed a neat turn of speed and announced, in time for the eastern evening news, that as they agreed a double-standard was unacceptable, not to mention unethical, impractical, and, they strongly suspected, unlawful, they were filing joint suit against both parties, and invited others to join them. The timing meant they got to give interviews and soundbites, adding disappointment with National Committees and disgust with negative tactics while cheerfully agreeing anyone who didn’t show in St Louis would rightfully be electoral toast. Irpa and Jeremiah did interviews for California and Kentucky, which slid right into the Eastern news cycle, and Warren one for Washington. While he was being serious and giving the Governor some love, he let it be known I would not be endorsing any independent against Washington or Oregon.

“That’s not just because of their early and important endorsements of Ms Hauptman, Ms Ligatt, but because they were already allies in most of what matters. They’ve strongly supported the Columbia Restoration and _Clean Up the Basin!_ , been helpful to the Freed, and are on-board with Ms Hauptman’s core policies, so I’m happy to work with both, going forward.”

For the last section Kyle joined him. Almost too nervous to watch, earlier, he’d recovered his panache, and besides saying good things about the practical and investigative help Warren gave when spouses abused one another or children, he spoke directly to the Pink Vote, and got out gay since 1776 and still going strong. _That_ made the Eastern news in a hurry too, with _de facto_ co-option of Washington and Oregon to my slate, and if there was spluttering from usual suspects, there was a lot of respect and amusement. There was also a soundbite from the Man, meeting an Asian leader in town, and skilfully making sure questions stayed on topic until the end, when he noted that as I’d run rings round both National Committees, twice, as well as every candidate who’d spoken Monday, he didn’t think impugning my ability such a smart tactic. And alas, he wouldn’t be attending in St Louis, as he had prior commitments, but you bet he’d be watching all he could, and excuse him, Asian affairs were calling.

They can’t have been calling that hard because he rang half-an-hour later, nominally to introduce the Asian leader, who was strikingly polite, but more to say he’d _really_ enjoyed the broadcast, and more DC people than would say so were very happy with me for scaring the pants off both National Committees and making them look just as leaden-footed as they were. He also wanted conversations with Warren and Jeremiah, but though I introduced them — or reintroduced, as he’d met Warren during the Accords — that had to wait. When he rang off, Jeremiah rolled his head.

“Glory be. I’m not at all sure how you do this so smoothly, Mercy.”

“I grew up bearding Bran, Jeremiah. And I’ve dealt with the Man often enough by now. You just need that lunch we missed, and so do I.”

I’d defrosted bolognese, and spaghetti was quick. Cooking soothed my nerves, and food calmed my stomach, as well as everyone else’s. We did more planning for launches, Mary joining us with my diary, but once we were done and the table cleared she headed out to call any number of people, and I took Frank and Jeremiah home, Jill and Brent riding herd. In the Garden Jeremiah adverted his eyes from the statue, making me wonder how eighteenth-century he still was, and I gave him permission to tell his Alpha about it privately, if Bran hadn’t already done so. We went to Philly first, so Jeremiah and Jill could meet Rachel, and her congratulations held us up a little, but not as long as Jeremiah’s relieved Alpha, Alan Villiers, and pack-mates. I made nice, introducing Jill and Brent, and let Jeremiah run through arrangements for Friday, answering questions from Alan before pleading business. There wasn’t that much, but Jeremiah needed his pack more than I did, and however quickly I passed through the Garden Underhill couldn’t compress time spent nattering in Lexington. Returning to the hall I felt powerful magical working, and so did Jill, but after a second I knew what it was.

“It’s OK, Jill. Gray Lord in the house. Edythe, as promised, I think.”

Kyle came out of the kitchen. “Correct, Mercy. Warren took her and Irpa to the basement, and is calling wolves in one at a time. Mary Jo’s been done, and is sitting in the kitchen saying nothing. Do I need to know why?”

“Not really. Another security layer because we are expecting action.”

“Action like Sunday action?”

“Sort of. Vamps, anyway. But let me check on Mary Jo.”

She was only magic-frazzled, and said she’d get over it. Warren had stayed downstairs because none of the wolves called in were happy with proximity to such potent magic, and neither was he, though he was sucking it up and resting a hand on Honey’s furry back. Irpa was looking respectfully interested, and Edythe gave me a sunny smile from where she sat over a pile of sticks with some tufts of fur, despite magic I could sense building as her hands moved with little flicks and finger-twiddles.

“Mercedes Elf-friend. You are being very entertaining again, and admirably calm.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Edythe, as I am about these fetches.”

“So you should be. Making them for creatures I’m not abducting is quite the challenge, if all in a good cause.”

“An excellent one, Edythe.” I wondered what she was or had been into abducting, but introducing Jill was more urgent, so I did, and nods were exchanged. “Are you inviting Gray Lords tomorrow, Irpa?”

“The Prince is coming, to promise Gray Lords will never command any particular vote. Bend my ears off, if they feel strongly about something, but no orders. I’m not sure if others will come.”

“Why crowd your stage?” Edythe gave a smile that was not human, nor any child’s. “Run along, now.”

The last was to, not the pile of sticks, but the replica of Honey it had abruptly become, and only the absence of pack-bonds told me which wolf was which. The fetch did run along, trotting out as Honey shuddered and immediately began to change. Brent, Jill, and I turned our backs to give privacy, Irpa ignored her, and Edythe gazed with distant interest until Ben sidled in on four legs, looking nervy. I opened my pack-bonds wide to send him, Mary Jo, Honey, and Warren Alpha reassurance, with an image of their wolves tied into the net the pack was, duplicate fetches standing out like sore thumbs because they were not connected to anything, and felt their relief. Ben calmed enough to ease over, so Edythe could pluck a small tuft of fur, magic flowing, while Irpa set down another pile of sticks.

“How are you controlling the fetches, Warren?”

“They stick with whoever their originals were told to stick with, Mercy, and obey commands. We checked with Mary Jo’s.”

“The magic takes a copy of them, Mercedes. A Changeling is no use unless it can fool humans.” Edythe gave a different smile I didn’t think much less scary. “There are usually embedded compulsions, of course, but I’m leaving those out.”

“Good to know. I have read of … personality leaks, from the makers.”

“Call it style, rather. It depends who’s doing what with the stolen, and in this case there aren’t any.”

“Interesting. Anything else you may say about this magic, Edythe?”

“Not that is useful, Mercedes. It is only a form of glamour.” She gave me a look. “We were surprised you did not ask for your own fetch.”

“Huh. There might be circumstances, Edythe, but I’m being about honesty, and the difference is risk. Even Adam thinks Sunday ruled out a sniper-shot at me. Wolves on guard, though … With attack delegated, Wulfe might not be able to prevent it, if he tries, and no wolf is expendable. What happens to a fetch if a silver bullet hits it?”

“Nothing, Mercedes. Not even a hole.”

“Even if the slug hits stick?”

“They’re not sticks until someone undoes the fetch. Oh, and as wolves can’t speak, they’ll bark three times when the questions are asked.”

“OK.” For a value of OK that escaped me. “So bullets won’t deviate?”

“Who knows? I wouldn’t stand behind one if shots are being fired.”

“Also good to know.”

“Just for a change, I have a question, Mercedes. I had not anticipated your modesty about Underhill’s statue. Can you explain?”

“Easily. Imagine it was of you without your glamour on, or anything else except a token ruff.”

I got a very sharp glance.

“That bad?”

“How should I know, Edythe? But it’s not really the skin show. I’m over that, mostly. It’s no choice, no warning, about exposure to gazes, ringing old bells that don’t really match but still jangle. And I simply don’t think of myself that way.”

“What way would that be?”

“Giant, nude, made of ice, in the act of killing, take your pick.”

“Heroic.” Warren shrugged, and Ben yipped agreement. “It’s true, Mercy. Darryl and I have talked about it some, but it’s just you. You do things that make all our heads spin, climb ever higher on the Mohs Scale, and wonder why we feel like doing triple bows of awesomeness.”

Edythe laughed. “Do wolves do that, Warren Smith?”

“With cause, Edythe. And forgive me, but one thing Underhill and Gray Lords might consider is that for Adam having a statue of his naked wife and mate in what counts as a public place is not so easy.”

“Ah. Perhaps we might, at that. But truth is truth, Warren Smith, and Mercedes Elf-friend did do that deed, just there, most unexpectedly.”

“She and my boss would both be a lot happier with a well-draped statue, all the same. Still antsy, but happier.”

I couldn’t disagree, but Honey finished changing and once dressed I gave her a hug and sent her upstairs with orders to keep to the kitchen with Mary Jo. Vamp agents could be watching and we didn’t want multiplying wolves noticed. As I sat again Ben’s fetch surged into existence, trotting off, he began to change, and a few moments later an edgy George sidled in, so I went back to reassuring. A while later Ben completed an unusually fast change, dressed rapidly, and headed upstairs without saying anything beyond a single, self-explanatory _Fuck!_ I amused myself considering the magic I could sense, intrigued by what I eventually tagged as something usually hostile, even inimical, used benignly, and sharply aware of how much raw power it had to take to do that. However there were things they wouldn’t do, and I wouldn’t ask for, Gray Lords were not stinting where they did agree to aid, and with four-legged fetches done Edythe did a two-legged Warren. taking hair from head and forearm, to play night-shift sergeant. When the process was complete, fetch-Warren went on duty, real-Warren headed upstairs to keep out of sight and chill with Kyle, Irpa made farewells, saying she’d see me in good time tomorrow, and I made sure Edythe knew how glad I was.

“It was my turn, Mercedes.” She shrugged. “And you have dealt with us more than fairly, which is as clever of you as we have come to expect.”

“I try, Edythe. But tell me, if you will, are you staying now?”

“Yes. I am the necessary cover after sunset.”

“Right. Food, then, and yo-yo space? There’s fresh banana-bread, unless anyone’s scoffed it in my absence.”

“Those would be welcome.”

I doubted she’d really dented her magical reserves but did look a little peaky, and ate more than one slice of banana-bread while she and Jill watched me assemble a bacon risotto. George, Ben, Mary Jo, and Honey were not at ease with Edythe, but neither was I, just used to it, and they were all surfing news and views, so there was conversation. What I’d said about wolf security and incited haters had been confirmed by more than one Alpha, and was true, however it concealed an anti-vamp war-footing, but they were having to cope with questions about wolf unaging. The other bicentenarians had come out, and so had some wolf demographics. Adam had been right Alpha average age was up, but the massed numbers between 25 and 40 in pack profiles, and the not-at-all-human drop off above that, was getting through excitement about the sudden extension to what living memory might mean. Ben was checking websites.

“Your request for emails to those di— … idiots in DC is being answered, Mercy. Heavy traffic. And you’ve tipped a bunch more people off the fence, though why they’d still be on it is a … mystery — registration and donation rates are sharply up again.” Ben watching his language for anyone but Adam was one for the books. “All the sites announced today are very busy, and holding up. And Alan Villiers gave a cracking statement about honouring and respecting Stourbridge’s experience, and supporting him in his campaign and as a senator. You could do one of those for Warren.”

“Adam’s on it, Ben. He and Darryl are at KEPR now.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.”

I pushed a little. “You weren’t always so keen on Warren. Nor others. But he got some pack-love today.”

“No, I wasn’t. And yeah, he did. Things change, Mercy. And I’m not quite so … fried, any more.”

“Joel moved it on.” Mary Jo shrugged. “So Warren’s gay, which my wolf still finds weird, but we can hardly accept Joel and fret about Warren.”

“And we don’t have Paul singing his little hate songs.” Honey cracked a knuckle. “Which is good. He dished out a lot of poison.”

“Oh yeah. Adam and I noticed.” I finished chopping and went to stirring and measuring rice. “The Freed’s attitudes play in too.”

“Right.” George nodded. “They have strong feelings about those who were in Wyoming that night. I have strong feelings about them, too, because they get my serious respect. Oh, and I was meaning to say I’m glad it worked out with Boz Lucas’s wife. He’s a good cop.”

“So I gathered, George. And me too — I like her. Honesty and some attitude, but not sass. Do you know her kids?”

“Not really. Met ’em a few times, at family events. Seemed OK.”

“Jesse has already roped them in to who knows what.”

“I bet. That’s girl’s a rocket.” He hesitated. “So are you, Ms Widepaw. I really enjoyed that training, so thanks for that. We’ve never run across a grizzly while hunting, only black bears.”

Jill regarded him. “It’s been a while since anyone called me a rocket, George, so you’re welcome. The black bears leg it, I imagine.”

“Un huh.”

“So would a lone grizzly, probably, faced with a werewolf pack, but maybe not so fast. We’re hard to argue with.”

“Right.”

“What did you particularly like about the training, George?” Rice went into boiling water.

“New movement.” He moved his hands vaguely. “When you’re with us, Mercy, hunting I mean, you occupy less space. So does Joel, as Presa Canario. Ms Widepaw takes more, so patterns change. Odd, at first, but interesting, and good to start getting right.”

Edythe laughed, not so scarily, but still. “A graceful perception, yet for us Mercedes Elf-friend occupies ever more space, however she still manages to slide though very narrow gaps.”

I was spared further discussion when Jesse and guards arrived, followed by Adam, Darryl, and Auriele. Dan and the Joes were wary of Edythe, relieved not to stay after reporting school had again become intense but Jesse contained it with what amounted to her first campaign report, and several teachers sent excited and amused congratulations. Darryl and Auriele seconded those, and Adam gave me a kiss.

“You nailed it again, love. Bran’s happy, and so am I. Where’s Warren?”

“Relaxing. Asleep, probably. Edythe’s magic generated some nerves.”

“I bet. Those fetches are something else.” He turned. “But they make me very glad, Edythe, as does the presence of your power. I cannot know, but my gut still tells me danger is imminent.”

“It is no problem, Adam Hauptman, and I am happy to be here. Mercedes is always entertaining, and a superior cook.”

“There’s that.”

He hugged Jesse, then went to be a good Alpha with George, Ben, Mary Jo, and Honey, reinforcing assurances we could always tell fetch from wolf, however it freaked them to have wolf-doubles, while I added rice to the wok and Darryl told me about the KEPR interview.

“Flanagan did it, because Caroline was giving Mid-West evening news more soundbites, and she was good. Fed us fair questions, and pushed back once or twice. Private life, including voting, and pack life is clear, but when the vote’s a state senator’s it’s not private. Then again, as Adam said, if there was a vote about anything that would affect pack, he and Warren would be in agreement anyway.” He grinned. “Flanagan had the guts to ask if that meant pack always came first. I said basic safety does, as family does, but we all work as well as being pack, and everyone knows it. They’re just testing the political autonomy, and as that’s pretty new in practice, however clear in theory, I can’t blame them. Then we had to shave some lines about homophobia, but made it clear we were all behind Warren as well as you, and a thoroughly modern equal-opportunity pack recognising female dominance as well as tibicenas and pink wolves.”

Jesse laughed. “You said pink wolves on air, Darryl?”

“I did, and proud of it. Not a big demographic, but they all count.”

“And 1776?”

“Them’s the facts, ma’am. And don’t forget that even so he’s a babe-in-arms next to Irpa, as all are to Medicine Wolf.” Darryl shrugged. “It worked well enough, Mercy. The round tables would be good sooner than later, though. Unless the outing happens pressure will build.”

“I know. Talk to Frank and Warren. And I’d think Irpa will be up for one on bridges.” I looked at Jill. “Has Bear asked you about this one?”

“Yeah, Momma mentioned it. I don’t mind more recent remembering, but you don’t ask a lady her age.”

“I do.” Edythe looked interested. “You’re the oldest avatar I’ve met. Two thousand plus?”

“For a while now, Old One. I’m still not coming out to humans about that, Mercy, but I’ll cop to remembering this land without Second People, and help retell what their coming meant. I’ve vented about history books often enough I can’t refuse a chance to improve them.”

“Good, thanks. And though it’s a tad early, it’s close to sunset and I have worked up an appetite today, so time to set the table, please, people. And someone get Warren?”

They did, while I did final spicing and stirring, and though Edythe’s power was still more disturbing than ap Lugh’s, because she so obviously wasn’t the nine-year-old girl she looked, she wasn’t trying to cause problems. Warren got some warmth and, when the KEPR interview came on, pink wolves drew laughter and suggestions Jesse should get appropriate fur-dye, but it was only joshing. Adam’s tightly controlled but growing tension had all wolves alert, and my own nerves were buzzing with disquiet as much as fear, because if it went the way I thought it was going to be clinically brutal. And as both Adam and I would bet on the wee small hours, when vamps felt most at home, we still had a lot of waiting to do.

Jesse had homework, and Adam and I calls to make. There wasn’t a normal evening routine to maintain these days, but pack members moved around some, and several TVs were in use. Ben was watching infra-red screens, Glocks were being cleaned and checked, and though it wasn’t remotely concealable Adam had acquired a flame-thrower from somewhere, as well as a variety of harpoons to ponder. Edythe sat spinning her yo-yo, and once Jesse came down, work done and Glock holstered, responded to a polite question about technique and started teaching her how to extend slow sleepers. And outside the fetches kept up their roving patrol, in and out of shadows and pools of security light, the media pack dwindled to its apparently resident rump, and light faded as Kennewick started catching some sleep.That was so not going to happen for us, but after a while Adam called everyone into his study, killing lights behind them but leaving doors open, and set up a rota for watching screens, though detection software was running. Everyone was feeling it, and we had to do something, so I brought out the customised _Clue!_ and Edythe sat up, yo-yo vanishing.

“That is not a standard set, Mercedes.”

“No it isn’t, Edythe. There are garden, fields, riverbank, and woods, as well as rooms, the victim is whoever we want, characters are Olympian gods, and the means of murder are combusting trousers, elk stampede, magic sword, golden shillelagh, imploding wig, giant anaconda, petrification, deboning, and boring to death. Fancy a game?”

“You are odd even for a coyote, Mercedes, but so very pleasingly. And I can hardly object to a new experience.”

“Good. Let’s make the victim Paul, to celebrate being shot of him.”

Wolves were good with that, Jill quirked an eyebrow, and we had very satisfactorily established that Dionysus got him with an imploding wig on the riverbank, Zeus petrified him in the woods, and Hera somehow persuaded the elk to stampede in the conservatory, when Edythe went stone still.

“Magic is being used. Wulfe the Sorcerer. A cloaking spell, I think. It is outside your property, and staying there.”

Adam and I exchanged glances.

“He’s having to tread a line.”

“Yeah, probably. Nothing on the infrared?”

Ben was on watch. “Not yet, Adam. But the fetches have noticed.”

How it worked I had no idea, but fetches disturbed the temperature profile around them enough for software to pick them up.

“They sense magic.” Edythe cocked her head. “Undead assemble. More than a dozen and less than a score.”

“Marsilia?”

“That I cannot tell, Adam Hauptman. The Undead are opaque.”

Medicine Wolf said the same, and though I’d learned to read Stefan some, and even Hao and Wulfe a little, that was external — body language, known gestures and moods, and, at a level I’d never been able to analyse, smell. And while I was magically aware of any vamp close to me, meaning twenty or thirty yards, upped some by the cloak and open space, I didn’t get detail, so opaque would do. I put the cloak on, holding Manannán’s Bane, and when I asked them to boost sensitivity became aware of Wulfe’s spell, though I couldn’t have identified it as Edythe had — it was just a dirty pressure at a distance that made me think of the way he sensed things by licking them. But it was keeping itself off our property. I could sense fetches too, wolves standing and fetch-Warren behind them, all staring. Software bleeped.

“Fifteen, Adam. No, sixteen. Two behind, the rest assembling where they were last night. Looks like a couple are carrying something heavy.”

“Heat signature?”

“Slightly cold. Longish.”

“Cold iron.” Edythe had no doubts. “Not electric.”

“What might be rifles. Optical resolution’s gone, and IR’s not clear.”

“How many?”

“At least three, maybe more. Could be swords.”

“Underhill is standing by, Edythe?”

“Oh yes. It will all be very quick.”

I sincerely hoped it would, in every sense for everybody, but another minute dragged by before I felt a different kind of magic building swiftly, and so did Edythe.

“It comes soon now.”

The newer magic felt like a much purer force, simple strength, and understanding clicked.

“Wulfe’s going to boost them up and over, Adam. Shots at the fetches and lob them in.”

Adam stared at me. “That crude?”

“Feels like it. They’ll be the blindingly angry ones, and he _wants_ them dismissed. He’s betting we can sense them. Yesterday was a heads-up. And it means none of his magic will trespass on our land, if you squint some.” I looked at Edythe. “That’s telling you he’s keeping his word, Fae style.”

Her eyes glittered at me. “Probably, though I wouldn’t put it like that to Nemane.”

I didn’t hear shots but felt all five fetches grazed by silver slugs as the newer magic surged. Power boiled around Edythe, Ben shouted “In the air!”, and as I sensed a far greater and more familiar power manifest high above us I was out of the door at coyote speed, Adam and others behind. Before I was into the lounge light from windows was brightening, strange shadows flickering out from furniture, and crossing the room my eyes locked on fourteen human shapes beginning to look up as they flew towards the house. I couldn’t see the disbelief there had to be on their faces, but as Underhill’s iris widened and sunlight thickened, pouring down like a cloudless noon, I felt Wulfe’s cloaking and impetus spells shatter and a snap of power as he and presumably Marsilia translocated out. Then within a split second all fourteen flying vamps exploded, dust pouring from trouser ends and sleeves that, deprived of mass, flared in air, twisting and fluttering down to earth to join shoes, watches, rifles, and something heavy enough to clang that plummeted onto drive and verges. I felt very hollow and slightly sick as well as indecently triumphant.

“Well, that’s that.”

Despite the press of wolves, humans, and Jill, all staring, Edythe was beside me, and sunlight started to fade as I felt the iris begin to close.

“Is low level sunlight for a few minutes more possible, Edythe?”

The closure halted.

“Yes, but only a few. Why?”

“Clean-up.” I grabbed a pack of dust-masks I’d left on the sofa, and threw it to Darryl. “Wolves, get everything that fell except dust, and assemble clothes and effects by vamp, please, fast. Edythe, no vision or photography from anyone outside would be _very_ good. Jesse, stay inside. Jill, I don’t know if you felt it, but all fetches were grazed by silver. Take Brent and find slugs while Adam and I see what made that clang?”

The midnight sun visible through the iris was weird but made gathering at speed easier, and Edythe assured me no-one outside would see anything, never mind photograph it. There was a sour aroma of dust, but earth fae appeared, we had masks for them, and they could do something magical in the way of raking that put dust into clean cotton sacks they carried, and breeze cleared air. It was done in a few minutes, wolves and fetch-Warren holding piles of clothing and shoes as they headed back in, earth fae putting sacks at the river’s edge for (Nuthatch told me) Medicine Wolf to remove. Adam and I were staring with some disbelief at a solid iron battering-ram forged with a snarling wolf-head when my phone began to play ‘Twenty-First Century Schizoid Man’. Wolves and earth fae froze, and I answered, putting it on record and speaker.

“Wulfe.”

<Mercedes. I seem to have suffered a degree of sunburn.>

“Not as much as others. Silver was fired at wolves.”

<Yes. I could not stop that, but made sure the rifles fired wide.>

“Silver grazes sting badly.”

<So does my sunburn. Omelettes, eggs.>

I looked at Adam, who grimaced but nodded.

“Alright. We’ll allow sunburn for silver grazes, but only this once. And, really, Grond?”

<A trophy for you, Elf-friend. Call it a Tolkien collectable. I spun them some hocus about a wolf-head to open a wolf’s home, but the only magic in it was to shatter if it hit glass, and the sunlight will have wiped that as it did my other spells.>

He was telling truth, and Adam heard it too.

“Fair enough. We note your lack of magical trespass. Does this new openness extend further?”

<Certainly. Who hears me?>

“Wolves, another avatar, earth fae, and Edythe.”

<Ah. Why am I surprised? But know Marsilia will tomorrow night register this seethe, and as our funding is oddly compromised, requests aid from the Borrowed Warchest for her Code-compliant members and the sheep of those now dust. Other sheep are in reasonable shape. Hao will also register, and Stefan, and we’ll all work on other seethes.> His voice became … wryer, not a tone I was used to from vamps, even Stefan. <I had foreseen more difficulties with that while Iacopo yet rules, but after your unbelievably fast staking of di Ragusa, which greatly unsettled, your method tonight will … mmm, terrify covers it.> Oily wryness became creepy irony. <Generous of you, all things considered.>

“I try. Everything is in hand, then?”

<It will be by tomorrow night. Just now I have some … call it shock to deal with. So many at once … reverberates.>

Seethes weren’t packs, but had bonds of one sort and another, and I wouldn’t wish multiple casualties on any pack.

“We do too, having killed fourteen. And you might want to practise saying Personal Blood Donors rather than sheep. You’ll speak to Westfield no later than tomorrow night?”

<I will. Tell him Hao will sit in.> Slyness slithered over irony, like another of his creepy licks. <And I _did_ enjoy your pitch-perfect baiting of Iacopo. He was _so_ cross. Three-to-one on he comes himself, next time.>

The connection was cut and I rolled my head. “Ugh. I want a shower.” But I wasn’t going to get one, and waved a hand. “Get moving, people.”

Brent came back from the gate. “Found the slugs, Mercy. All embedded in the drive. Jill’s marking them, and neighbours are stirring.”

“I bet. Ask Underhill to close the iris, please, Edythe.”

Sunlight shrank and vanished, and I felt the night ease as great power left. Our outside lights seemed paltry, but we could still see. Adam shook himself, and so did Brent.

“Our gladness to Underhill, if you will. Brent, get Grond inside, please.”

“Sure.” He picked it up, hefting. “Sixty-some pounds. Huh. Who knew vamps read Tolkien?”

“Wulfe has. The rest didn’t get it.”

“True.”

He jogged towards the house, and Edythe laughed softly.

“Wulfe the Sorcerer made a Tolkien joke. I wonder if he knew about your orc metaphor. Interesting. Do you still wish to leave the fetches until Leslie Fisher is here?”

“If you’re willing, Edythe. The logic hasn’t changed.”

“Well enough. But your neighbours and the FBI are your business, and I have my own. My magic will return to me when you undo the fetches, and photography will slowly become possible again. Fare you well Overhill, Mercedes Elf-friend, Adam Hauptman, and all here.”

“You too, Edythe, Underhill. We have been very glad of your company.”

“Yours was not boring, Mercy, though Hera would never let elk into a conservatory.”

The arch closed behind her while I was wondering if it was a tease or if Olympians existed and whether being _Clue!_ characters would offend them. It didn’t seem an imminent threat, but neighbours were, and when Adam and I set off for the gate three fetches trotted beside us while fetch-Honey went on a sweep with fetch-Warren.

“Hera?”

“Don’t ask, love.” He was holding my hand. “What matters is it worked, and we have right dust, even if the vamps were sheep to the slaughter.”

“Un huh. I thought that too. The irony’s enough to count as cosmic justice, though seeing them crumble …”

“I know. But they brought it on. End of story.”

We weren’t arguing, just beginning to deal, and I let it go. They _had_ brought it on, and if I was a bit squicked I wasn’t repining. We paused to consider the buried slugs we could smell and Jill had marked with circles of gravel, but a call from the roadway beyond the gate drew us on, and as we focused on the old man ignoring bewildered media pointing cameras and mikes Adam turned on his apologetic smile.

“Mr Andrews. I’m sorry for the disturbance, but you can stand down. All’s well.” A wobbly old shotgun was lowered, and I breathed easier. “Someone fired shots into our property from the scrubland up there, and though they didn’t hit anything it triggered magical alarms. Whoever it was is long gone, but I thank you for coming to our aid like this.”

“Alarms, Mr Hauptman? Looked like the sun jumped back up.”

“I know, Mr Andrews, but if someone attacks in the dark, you need light, so we arranged some. Just file under magic.”

“Huh. I heard the shots. Volley.”

“Yeah. Five we’ve found. Silver, so it was probably someone Mercy’s upset campaigning, I’m afraid. Have you suffered any harm beyond being so rudely disturbed?”

“Noo, not really. Made me jump.” Mr Andrews scowled. “I don’t hold with firing blind at a property. No, sir. It ain’t right, and a coward’s way.”

“No argument, Mr Andrews. But forgive me, I expect your wife’s waiting for reassurance, and I hear SUVs on Chemical Road. I dare say they’ll want statements.”

“Course they will. Write it all down. But if you’re all OK here?”

“We are, Mr Andrews, and we thank you for being so neighbourly. It’s a kindness we won’t forget. And our best to your wife, also.”

A little Alpha push saw him turning back, shotgun at port arms, and I gave Adam’s hand a squeeze and spoke too quietly for any mikes.

“Remind me to take Mrs Andrews one of those fruitcakes she loves. And we should tell him truth, when it breaks. Walking over took guts.”

“True.” We listened to vehicles turn onto South Piert. “I like those fruitcakes too. You usually only do them at Christmas.”

“Too much stirring. And too rich. That’s Tony’s car, but the Feebs aren’t far behind.”

It was, stick-on rooflight flashing as it pulled up and Tony and some uniforms spilled out.

“Mercy, Adam. We have reports of shots fired and weird light. Saw the light myself, like a great shaft.”

“Hi, Tony. Someone fired five silver slugs, and set off our alarms, but no harm done besides the disturbance. Mr Andrews over the way might have things to say — he came to check on us. But as I’m officially campaigning as of yesterday I imagine Feebs are on their way.”

“Un huh. Fisher called to say she was responding, with some Special Forces guys. I’ve heard rumours they were in town.”

“Yeah. Someone’s feeling protective.” Uniforms began to push media back, and I dropped my voice. “KPD will be told more, Tony, but not today, and that’s not our choice. Orders from the top, and I don’t mean the Marrok. Clay knows some things, but ask privately.”

“Hell. Citizens in danger?”

“Only us, Tony, and we won tonight. Plus, ‘shots fired, no harm done, Feds took over’ is a ream less paperwork than anything else.”

“I bet, not that I have any choice.”

More SUVs pulled up, and a disgruntled Leslie marched over, men in tow. I heard Adam mutter “SEALs”.

“We had reports of extremely unexpected weather, Ms Hauptman.”

“You could say, SAC. Shots fired, alarm triggered, but all done and dusted now.” Her eyes gleamed in the gatelight. “Automatic federal jurisdiction, given yesterday? Tony was wondering.”

“I’m afraid so, Detective Montenegro. I’ll brief KPD later, but I have to take over now.”

“So Mercy just told me, SAC. I still need to report.”

“Stay on gate security for ten or fifteen, Tony? We need wolves to change both ways, to report and get out here, and it’s already been a _very_ long day, any way you cut it.”

“Can do, Mercy. You had the station laughing with the California 12th and Kentucky, on top of your credit being very good. But this will generate a lot of heat.”

“I know, Tony, but there are good reasons to stonewall, just. Promise.”

“Alright. Shots fired, alarm triggered, investigation by Feds ongoing.”

“And all true. SAC, your SEAL backup would be?”

Leslie made introductions as Tony turned away, calling to uniforms, and Adam and I nodded politely.

“Captain, Lieutenants. Please listen only until we’re inside.”

We let them through, and after closing the gate went to where Jill stood, bulk very present to my senses. The fetches followed. I introduced Jill and pointed with Manannán’s Bane.

“Five buried silver slugs, fired at what the shooters thought were Warren, on two legs, and four other wolves, on four. Guns were magically rigged to miss, but the shooters didn’t know that. Five grazes. Five counts of attempted murder, but the perpetrators are already dust.”

Leslie processed. “Thought were, Ms Hauptman?”

“Un huh. On we go.”

I had no idea where any lingering ambient anti-photography might be at, but I summoned fetches-Warren and -Honey, and getting inside was a palpable relief. Leslie didn’t relax in the same way.

“Mercy, what the hell happened? I’ve been fretting about unexpected weather ever since you warned me, but … what? Turning the sun back on in the small hours?”

She was so plaintive I couldn’t stop a laugh. “Tell me, Leslie. Our neighbour said the same. But we’ve just told vamps only daywalkers need apply. And brace yourself. You too, gentlemen.”

The fetches responded to my gesture, gathering before me as true wolves and others filled the hall, making SEALs shuffle. George, Ben, Mary Jo, Honey, and Warren were all there, on two legs, and I saw Leslie register two Warrens. I grasped Manannán’s Bane, words Charles had taught me long ago coiling in my mind, with necessary adaptations.

“Five creations of Edythe, we are glad of your service, but it is done. And so I must ask you all, what walks like a werewolf and talks like a werewolf and is left by the fae in the werewolf’s right place?” My voice sounded the sing-song. “What unchecked would curdle cream, make sick the cows, and make an Alpha moan? What unchecked would hide like poison and rot away pack and home?”

“A fetch! A fetch! A fetch!”

Fetch-Warren spoke the words, those on four legs yipping triple agreement, and with the third repetition all collapsed into the piles of sticks they always had been, whatever Edythe said. I felt magic depart, and bent to gather tufts of hair. Warren and others who’d been duplicated shook themselves, while Leslie and SEALs gawped.

“What the … Damn. Fetches?”

“Yeah.” I gave the hair to Adam. “That should be burnt, love. Short version, SAC, is seethe attack, as predicted, starting with silver shots at those on guard, and while Wulfe proved honourable in rigging misses, Adam and I didn’t care to risk wolves, so he arranged fetches, courtesy of Edythe. Neither silver or anything else has any effect on them, but the shooters didn’t know that. Silver bullets in the sun.” Leslie blinked. “Darryl?”

“Den sofas, Mercy.”

“Thanks.” I led the way, the assorted company allowing Leslie and the SEALs to follow right behind. Piles of folded clothing topped by pairs of shoes were racked along sofas, five with rifles propped beside them, and all with handguns that smelt of silver and a variety of blades. Mini-Grond lay on the floor, wolf-ears and carry-handles gleaming. I stepped aside, and Leslie’s eyes tracked right, left, and down.

“Hell. Fourteen? They attacked?”

“Flew right at the house.”

“And what the … on earth is that thing?”

“A battering-ram. Or mini-Grond, take your pick.” She blinked again. “And you know, Leslie, once in a while, you can get shown the light in the strangest of places, if you look at it right.” Her eyes went wide, and I smiled with all the edge I felt. “Which I did, and those vamps didn’t. And as it’s Beltane, a fire festival, their bad. There’s also a call from Wulfe I recorded you, the AED, and the Man should hear. Things are moving on.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

It was very late indeed before anyone got any sleep, and if Jesse could cry off school for a day Adam and I didn’t have that luxury. Forensic techs dug out slugs and departed with weapons and clothing, and a SEAL presence let wolves head home after giving statements, but beings kept arriving. Medicine Wolf came by to offer congratulations, and said it had watched the magic with great interest and soothed flora and fauna disturbed by unmannerly sunlight, before sniffing at the gathered dust, growling distaste, and despite federal demur disposing of the cotton sacks down a shaft that gaped briefly and snapped shut again. Gwyn ap Lugh visited, pleased the plan had worked and interested by mini-Grond, which I kept. I passed on Marsilia’s request about the Borrowed Warchest, which he said, eyebrow quirking, he’d take in hand. Bran didn’t actually turn up but did call, wanting a first-hand account. And the media mob outside never stopped swelling, and made way too much noise.

Leslie waited until 6 a.m. Eastern before calling the AED, finding him already breakfasting, and by then a clip from someone at the gate was top of the early newscasts. It didn’t show much, but fetches staring had attracted the camera, so while they were only blurry outlines the sound of shots had been caught, followed by a blaze of light that whited-out the screen. When it faded house and grounds had remained fogged for several hours, though our conversation with Mr Andrews and first exchange with Tony were there, and by the time things were back in focus there was nothing to be seen except new uniforms on the gate. Leslie had issued a statement saying shots had been fired and a magical alarm triggered, but no injury caused. Investigations were proceeding, no determinations had been made, but obvious possibilities raised by my candidacy could not be ignored, and SEALs were on guard at her request until the Secret Service could take over. When the news went on to a container ship in trouble in Chinese waters Leslie gave Westfield a more accurate summary, with images snapped on her phone, and I played back my conversation with Wulfe. He listened impassively, eyes dark, and refilled his coffee mug.

“So you are still batting 1000, Ms Hauptman. Their rifles were sabotaged to miss, they fired at illusions, and you had arranged … sunlight on demand.”

“That covers it AED, but the fetches were because we couldn’t count on the sabotage. Wulfe played it straight, though, for a vamp value of straight.”

“By … throwing fourteen of his own kind straight at you, hoping you would deal with them.”

“Yeah. But still. I don’t know how much vamp power was dismissed, but enough he was constrained by it. And yet, by the letter, no magical trespass, and minimal injury even if it had been wolves grazed by silver. Plus first registrations, meaning open vamp secession from Bonarata, and a whole lot of … interseethe squawking. So no Geronimo yet. Give them a chance to sweat, not that vamps can.”

His eyebrows rose. “I suppose not. But yes. And your predictions of Bonarata’s responses prove exact. The President briefed me on your expectations of St Louis. Have those changed at all?”

“The opposite, AED. The mystery of di Ragusa is an oaken bonus that should eat at Bonarata, but with a mass attack carried out as ordered proving an immediate and complete failure, costing fourteen and generating secession by Marsilia’s survivors and more, his authority is openly on the line. Wolves and fae will make sure details get back to all seethes in the US, Mexico, and Canada, and they’ll get the data package with Code and terms. So will European seethes we know about, so word will spread, and all vamps will look to his further response. You should talk urgently to ap Lugh and Bran about helping the bereaved sheep, because that news will play too. It all means he _has_ to get me, and as vamps are averse to suicide — after the first time, anyway — it _has_ to be daywalkers, which limits his options. He _might_ get it together fast enough to try something in Lexington or here, but he’s got hard thinking and fast talking to do, already has plenty else on his plate, and will soon have more, so I doubt it. Other things being equal, I’ll announce the meeting with Ol’ Manitou River on Tuesday. He should already know about my going to St Louis, so it’ll add open-air exposure, and he’ll have three days to get there.” I shrugged. “Wulfe’s odds were low, I think. St Louis will be the obvious opportunity, and Bonarata will throw good money after bad at least once more. Very old habits die very hard.”

He shook his head. “I am running out of ways to express surprise and admiration, Ms Hauptman.”

“How about letting me and Adam get some sleep, AED? Adrenalin’s worn off, and we both need it.”

“I imagine you do.” He thought for a moment. “There’s nothing save some calls that has to be done now. The recovered rifles and slugs are proof of hostile intent, Leslie, even without the blades, but include the images of that battering-ram when you write it up. File for my eyes only, and I’ll brief the President, Joint Chiefs, and Directors. Is there a particular reason you’re retaining the battering-ram, Ms Hauptman?”

“Mini-Grond, AED, and I’m thinking about it. There are implications. Did Wulfe know about my orcs metaphor?”

“Um … yes. How much you had and hadn’t told us about vampires came up on the one occasion we’ve spoken.”

“Right. I thought he must. Grond was an orc weapon, but wielded by trolls, so one thing is I want Irpa to see it. It would have fitted that hocus Wulfe said he spun, and spelling it to shatter against glass, if he did, would amuse him, but even if it’s no more than a joke there will be layers to think through. And what would you do with it anyway?”

“Point. What happened to the original Grond?”

“Um … spoils of war, certainly, but Tolkien doesn’t say. Burned, with the head melted down by dwarves, probably. Or deep-sixed if the steel was too magically contaminated. Except it wasn’t the original — the battering-ram at Minas Tirith was named for Morgoth’s mace, the Hammer of the Underworld, and that might play in, somehow, vamps being the ones who just got hammered. But Wulfe didn’t know about Underhill, so morningstars probably aren’t relevant.” Even Adam blinked, and I sighed. “Let me sleep on it, and I might make more sense.”

“Fair enough. And congratulations on surviving assassination attempt number … eight, is it? Mr Hauptman. Leslie.”

Leslie wasn’t happy about St Louis plans but I asked her to do me a favour all the same, on Jesse’s behalf, and let Jenna and Sally know what had happened.

“Sally can tell Clay and Donna, but still under oath.”

“Damn. I don’t neglect my daughter but … damn, Mercy, how do you keep not missing a single trick?”

“I told you, Leslie, our strength is as the strength of ten because our hearts are pure. Jesse and Jenna keep them that way.”

She didn’t say anything but hugged me, and Adam and I staggered upstairs and zonked out. He tried to leave me asleep when he hauled himself upright again barely three hours later, but I’d half-woken and as people on Pacific Time caught news both our phones started bleeping with concerned enquiries, so I opted to shower and dress despite dragging limbs. Jeans and a sweatshirt would do, and I added the cloak. Although we had nothing to say Leslie hadn’t already said, being seen alive and well mattered, so after I’d made a call to Stallings, excusing Jesse, and fielded her curiosity, we headed down to the gate. It was all slightly absurd, and we stonewalled about sunlight and alarm systems on the grounds that magic is magic, security security, and neither public domain. Adam offered thanks to SEALs, while regretting the necessity, and after saying the camera-fogging was an unavoidable side-effect of some magics, I managed to distract the mob by wondering if five silver slugs might be like five orange pips, a warning. If so, the warners were probably still running from the magical response, and could in any case forget it — Cantrip hadn’t stopped me, nor Heuter, Dim Future, or the JLS, and whoever had shot our drive could join the list. Meantime, could we get back to the agenda they were trying to hijack? I’d be in Haight-Ashbury mid-afternoon, with Irpa, and yes, I was going by cloak, so there was no point their hanging about, and bye now, presidential candidates and security bosses having things to do and people to see.

Adam gave me a sidelong look as we walked back up the drive.

“Sherlock Holmes now?”

“Blame sleep deprivation. And it’s more like five red herrings. Best I could do as a segue to get back on message.”

“It’s another good one, love, but you are a bit punchy. Not a problem now, but maybe later. I don’t quite know how I feel about this, but if Underhill’s good with it, go catch some hours that don’t pass here?”

“Maybe.” The thought had crossed my mind, and Underhill might want to talk. Gladness was due. “I’ll see how I go, Adam. David’s here at noon?”

“That’s what he’s aiming for. Secret Service, too, who are also sending a detail to SF.” Adam’s voice was dry. “The Director was quite insistent on going the extra mile for you, by all accounts.”

“Fancy that. God knows what he’ll do if I win.”

“Accept a wolf squad, fast.” I got another look. “I might have to tell him about the statue, and that I’m not having humans gawping at you quite so déshabillé.”

“Huh. Edythe was asking about my reaction to that, and Warren poked at her about yours. Being out and running is proving good for him, as we thought. His confidence is up.”

“It must be if he slapped at Edythe.”

“Only a little, but he made the point. She took it too, but said the statue was accurate. It’s even in exactly the right place, so fig-leaves were a real concession.”

He didn’t disagree but felt what he felt. So did I, but I was getting used to the statue, and if it had been bronze or marble I didn’t think I’d be much bothered, though I supposed Underhill would think that a form of falsity. Just now breakfast was more interesting, and what passed for routine re-asserted itself. Adam sent the night-shift home, day-shift came on, and Dan and the Joes they stayed to boost numbers and hash things over. I touched base with Mary, and combined calls to Jenny and Frank to update them. Both were relieved, but Jenny wanted detail.

“It’s legal limbo, Mercy, and the Feds won’t want to cause you trouble, but the numbers have to have shaken them and the lack of direct evidence is problematic. Nor will media questions stop.”

“I know, Jenny, but can sunlight be called an offensive weapon? And when this all breaks, I can produce mini-Grond and say that whether it’s four, fourteen, or forty vamps firing silver and jumping at me and mine, carrying a tool of Sauron, they’re toast, period. If it’s in St Louis, there might be footage of me and others using Glocks or other weapons, even of vamps crumbling, which is not fun to see. Depends how cameras react to time dilation, but if Lenka Yakovlevna’s involved there’ll be at least one body that stays flesh. When the truth’s out, it’s out, and I haven’t killed anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“No, I know, Mercy. I’m just processing. _Presidential candidate slays fourteen in home invasion_ is unknown territory.”

Frank smiled, though it lacked wattage. “True, Jenny, but voters are not going to object. And it’s not as if anyone doesn’t know attacking Mercy is a really stupid idea, thank God and other beings. I’m more worried about you, Mercy — you look worn. Just how bad was last night?”

I sighed. “They didn’t get close enough to see expressions, fortunately, but I can imagine them, and have. Wulfe set them up, coldly, and we took them down, just as coldly. I always knew there’d be plenty of dust, so far it’s been the right dust, and it was quick. I’ll live with it, and I’m glad enough to serve the warning. Only Bonarata will ignore it, so I should have just one more vamp attack to survive for a long while. Happy days.”

There was a silence.

“Recalibrate for Mercy. Right.” Frank made a face, and I grinned. “I’ll get the hang of it. But try to grab an hour or two of sleep before SF? Troll launches sound high-octane.”

That was true, and I decided that if an Underhill nap was available, I’d be a fool not to take it. “Will do. Stress catching up, not just last night.”

“Un huh.” He eyed me shrewdly. “And relief Jesse’s risk should drop right off, whatever your own does. Is she OK?”

“Asleep, far as I know. And yeah. She held up really well while we were waiting. We played _Clue!_ , and she worked out Hera did it in the conservatory with an elk stampede, though Edythe says Hera really wouldn’t do that, at least with elk.”

I wasn’t going to get a better exit-line, and took it. I needed to push finding the length-and-breadth-of-the-Mississippi crew, but it turned out Maya had it in hand, for Sunday so folk didn’t miss work, and flights in and out of Tri-Cities Airport and St Louis had been reserved even where names still had to be supplied. Billings, Denver, Kansas City, Little Rock, Shreveport, New Orleans, Memphis, St Louis, Indianapolis, and Pittsburgh were sorted, with Chicago, and she was chasing Wichita, Oklahoma City, and Baton Rouge, while Jude and others were tackling Nashville, Louisville, Cincinnati, and Columbus. We had two stevedores, three boat hands (one a woman), two river captains, a pilot, a chandler, and, pleasingly, a high-stakes cruiseboat gambler, also a woman ; the age range was 19 to 61, while all knew their Blues, more or less, with several playing something, if only for fun. She had also done flights for First People Jim Alvin and my demographic father were drumming up.

“All sounds good, Maya, but more women? And some ex-kiddos?”

<Oh yeah. I’m so on that.>

“Good. And I didn’t mean everyone had to be active on the river now. A vet or serving soldier wouldn’t be amiss. And emergency services or boat safety — river has its bureaucracy as well as business and mystique.”

<Right.> She scribbled notes. <We’ve been tapping into river grapevines, but I’ll tell Boz and Jude to broaden parameters. Might make for leaks despite asking for oaths, though frankly, Mercy, for my money the oath has less effect than being dumbstruck.>

“Manitous are still that big a surprise?”

<Well, kinda, but it’s not that. It’s being asked, and a manitou of colour. You’re reaching right into our hearts.>

I swallowed, hard. “Unacceptably so?”

<God, no. Anything but, Mercy. I didn’t—>

“No, sorry, Maya. I’m just tired, and jumpy after last night. Race is always raw, given our history, and I’m doing what amounts to a lot of manipulating. Making offers people can’t refuse has a pretty dubious rep.”

<Marlon Brando you’re not, Mercy. Go catch some zs.>

If everyone was telling me to sleep I should listen, and as Brent was upright I told him what I intended, put in a Benny’s order for lunchtime, put on the cloak, and we went. Just sitting on one of the benches was restful, the heavy odour of roses narcotic, and I was fighting my eyelids when Underhill skipped in and cocked her head, considering me.

“Mercedes Elf-friend, sleep at ease while time crawls Overhill. Is all not well?”

“It is, Underhill.” Being there brought truth to the surface. “Except my conscience. Did you see what we wrought?”

“I did.” I got a shrewd look. “But to me, they were as young as insects are to you. And you would respect age and experience if you could.”

“Yes. They should have counted as elders, though the count stops with first death. I don’t like feeling triumphant about it. I’m not being very logical today.”

“So sleep. None will harm you here.”

“I know. And I really wish I could thank you properly for my life, twice over, Underhill.”

“You do, Mercedes, richly. I had more than one reason for naming you Elf-friend.”

“You have more than one reason for everything.”

She smiled. “So do you. Sleep. Irpa will not allow you to be late for anything you have promised.”

It wasn’t a command, but might as well have been, and the next thing I knew was some serious bouncing as Irpa flicked a troll finger at the very comfortable bench, which felt but didn’t look like a bed.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead.” I got a troll grin, seeing Brent but no sign of Underhill. “Eight straight should sort anyone.”

I glanced at Brent, who shrugged.

“About that, Mercy, but my watch says it’s been maybe eight minutes, so what do I know? Irpa’s been here a while, and assured me no-one would be late for anything.”

“Time’s never a problem Underhill. And you have your fizz back. Cloak’s done some recharging and Manannán’s Bane some talking, so that’s all good. And the outcome of Operation Scarlet Begonias.” I’d shared that twisted thought a while back, and she grinned, looking at me with what I thought genuine curiosity. “Underhill said you were feeling the weight of youth?”

“Did she?” The paradox blossomed in my mind. “That’s a new one on me, Irpa, but sounds right. Anyone tell you about mini-Grond?”

“Westfield told the Prince you wanted me to see it.”

“Gut-feeling. I think I want Giant-shortener to meet mini-Grond.”

Very large eyebrows rose. “Troll clubs are picky, Mercy, and mini-Grond of Undead make. It could get squashed.”

“Mmm. Ask it first? We are talking daywalker who probably has stake-resistance. He’ll have been working on decapitation.”

“Huh. Nemane still insists fae magic is impossible without a fae body, but I’ve been wondering about that. I’ll do some talking, but my club has its own opinions. Imagine Manannán’s Bane weighed sixteen tons, and you’ll be ballpark. But we should get moving, Mercy. I need to be early, there are people to meet, and time dilation’s not for wasting.”

That made me grin, and I realised I felt infinitely better, not just well-rested and limber but reconciled, as if a lot more than eight hours had passed, or Medicine Wolf had lent me glass. Irpa was right about fizz, and when I expressed gladness for refuge and comfort, and there was a tinkly chime that made me smile as Irpa opened an arch.

A quick shower completed my contentment, and I had for once already decided what to wear. I’d done some commissioning as well as buying off the shelf, and the guests Irpa had arranged made a dress with a mid-calf flared skirt and full-colour Medicine Wolf above _I do not need enemies to know who I am_ perfect. By the time I bounced back downstairs Jesse was up, and Jill, who gave me a fish-eye.

“Eight hours in eight minutes?”

“Apparently. It’s done the trick, anyway. How’s your head, Jesse?”

“I’m good, Mom. Better them than anyone else, even if it weighs.”

“Oh yeah. Death does, but it was quick. And you get big points for endurance. Tension eats at a body.”

“Un huh. A shower helped, but I can still feel it.”

“I bet. One thing, though — Leslie will have told Jenna, and she’ll have told Sally, so get privacy and you can blow some steam.”

I got a fast hug.

“You are the best, Mom. And I thought about going to school for afternoon classes — I’d rather be doing, and could deflect questions some.” She cocked her head. “There’s open speculation it was fae power. Any official line?”

I swallowed emotion. “We don’t discuss what physical or magical defences we may or may not have, period. But you can say that by ap Lugh’s word and mine neither your dad nor I owe any debt to any fae.”

“Right. And the Path of Mercy having side-benefits?”

I thought about it. “Maybe, but you might want that line later. If it breaks the way I think, I might have to be straight on TV about last night, so nothing that contradicts the truth of a joint preternatural op. Security stonewalling is wiser. Of course we regret any disturbance, but when you’re under night-attack you need light, so magic provided some. Common sense. And segue to whoever fired the shots achieved nothing. Minus vamps, human haters are prime suspects, and I don’t mind letting them shoulder it for now. What will post-Parkland think?”

“Haven’t done the feeds, but shooting is bad, and the political use of violence, so we’re definitely good guys.”

“Always.” I was back to meaning it. “But if you’re really up for school, Jesse, that’d be good. The shooters don’t even get to disrupt your routines much — less than the mob outside. But if David and his guys are here by then, we’ll reinforce Dan and the Joes. David’s with me, but humans can’t be by cloak. And though I’d be very surprised if anything happened today, vamps know all about hostages and indirect threats. Maximal care and firepower for the next ten days, and here inside between sunset and sunrise, Jesse, without fail. Your license means you can pack your Glock, but concealed, please, and don’t out yourself as carrying. It’s a hole-card not be wasted.”

“Right. Arguing carrying with post-Parkland would not help, just, though they’re reading your website piece carefully and I’ve already argued weapons of whatever kind for a specific threat environment.”

“Un huh. It’s only that their threat environment is guns.”

“Or just school.”

I thought schools had pretty much always been a threat environment for kiddos, but philosophy took a back seat as the Secret Service arrived, followed not much later by David’s Hummers with his usual crew and arsenal. The Secret Service guys had been well-briefed by the AED as well as their Director, including last night, and though wary weren’t too jumpy, so we’d been efficiently practical, sorting what they could and couldn’t do, and my peripatetic schedule, before David rolled in. It was a pleasure to see him, and Connor, John-Julian, Travis, Vinnie, and Lincoln, and they were happy to be back, as well as vastly entertained by what I was doing, and sharply concerned about last night. As all David’s guys knew about vamps, and he’d know from Bran about the ultimatum, if only in outline, I laid the whole thing out and had Brent fetch mini-Grond. There was a lot of staring, and David scratched his head.

“Well, hell, Mercy. Sarge said there’d be surprises in your briefing, but I didn’t think big enough. Or sideways. Underhill’s light dusting fourteen vamps with a wolf-head ram did _not_ make my first screen.”

“This is seriously forged.” John-Julian hefted it, biceps bulging. “And way heavier than it need be to get through windows, doors, or most walls.”

Irpa leaned forward. “It’s kinda pretty, too. Good detail. Wulfe said it was spelled to shatter if it hit glass, but sunlight would have washed it?”

“Un huh. You disagree?”

“No. That fits what I sense, Mercy. But Giant-shortener thinks it would be hard to knock that wolf-head off, so maybe Bonarata does have decapitation resistance.” She looked thoughtful. “Rejoining, maybe, like the Green Knight. Your desire for flame-throwers is sounding wiser all the time, Mercy, so I’ll be packing accelerant and a lighter.”

“Wonderful. If Bonarata really does have resistance to three tried and trusted methods of dismissal, no wonder he’s insanely confident. Mmm. He still uses an inner cadre of enforcers, and _they_ don’t. So while we’re already thinking about nailing whoever he sends, dismissing the entourage may be more important than we’ve thought. Clean sweeps isolating him. He’s next to immune yet sends others, avoiding personal risk. And that tells us there are chinks as well as ego.” I turned to the senior Secret Service guy. “I asked Westfield if the CIA could produce a bullet or harpoon-head containing hypergolics. You know anything about that?”

“They’re trying, ma’am. The problem is not setting it off when you fire, because the slug jams in the barrel as it melts.”

“Not good. But … if they’ve got the hypergolics, put them in … I dunno, small cannonballs, something Irpa or a wolf could throw hard enough to deform on impact.” I thought. “I said to the Man Bonarata’s resistance was magical, so answers had to be magical too, but, one, belts and braces, and two, magic isn’t just woo-hoo, it rides on objects. Worst case, there’s bits of staked Bonarata trying to rejoin in sunlight, and we’re trying to stop them. Gotta hold bits still _and_ set them on fire. Bottom line, if we have to escalate, under pressure, we need to think about collateral damage. _Can’t_ do much warning ahead of time, which handicaps civilian first responders, but the military could have firefighters on standby. Can you talk to the AED, Agent, and see that happens?”

Most Secret Service guys were frowning, but their senior nodded.

“Will do, ma’am. Your priorities illuminate things Westfield said. Pentagon can do all sorts but it’s often time-sensitive so I’ll get on it now.”

I liked the implicit compliments. “Thanks. There’s a Benny’s lunch due in ten, then Jesse needs to head to school, me and others to SF. AED’ll listen hard, and if the military demur call the Chair of the Joint Chiefs.”

I got more stares, not just from humans.

“I can try, ma’am, but I don’t have that access.”

“You do now”, I told him, and hauled out my overworked phone.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

With another Benny’s pepperoni pie a happy memory I played chauffeur again, collecting Frank, with a nervy Rachel, and Jeremiah, with Alan Villiers. I’d left Warren, Brent, David, and Irpa, with Ramona and three Freed waiting in the Garden of Manannán’s Death, and when I got back from Lexington, Rachel and David were still staring at the statue. Villiers wanted to as well, but knew better than to say anything, and I stifled a sigh. Maybe I should commission a copy for the middle of the reflecting pool in the National Mall and have done. Fortunately, Irpa was in no mood to hang about, and as soon as ap Lugh turned up off to SF we went.

We came out in a secured area behind a stage in Bison Paddock, and my heart thumped. The surviving Grateful Dead were in the middle of ‘Sugaree’, and a big screen showed a crowd that was already enormous, filling the Paddock, banked seating on both sides, and John F. Kennedy Drive, with more who’d climbed trees all round. There were people I really wanted to meet, but Secret Service guys came first. To be fair, there were only two, whom I already knew, the rest of the team, I was told by Agent Maretti, being deployed around the secured area. There were many Feeb and SFPD eyes scanning the crowd, in reality and on screens, and provided I stayed on stage no obvious vantage for a sniper.

“I’ve been told that despite events last night, there might not be such an elevated risk, Ms Hauptman.”

Others not in the loop could hear. “So I gather, Agent Maretti. SAC Fisher has reason to believe it was local to the Tri-Cities, and this event has only been public since yesterday. Lexington and Sacajawea SP on Saturday, maybe, but today is lower risk. Coming the other way, I have Carnwennan, another blade, a Glock — you know about the all-state licenses the CIA did for us? — and magical capabilities. You’ll recognise David Christiansen and the Freed with me, but Brent Lanning is a wolf, multiple black belt, packing Glock and blade, and Jill Widepaw an avatar of Bear, ditto. David, Brent, and Jill are on me, the Freed will reinforce your perimeter, if that’s OK.”

It was, and Irpa stepped forward.

“Additionally, Agent Maretti, besides Giant-shortener my sister Þorgerðr and friend Vorðr have troll-clubs too.” A six-foot version of Þorgerðr stepped forward to stand beside Irpa, looking like Ms Thorsden’s sister ; Vorðr was another tall, _very_ well-muscled Nordic woman. “And as the Prince is here, we have more magic than you could shake any number of sticks at. All clear?”

Maretti had a set to his face I recognised, but nodded tightly. “It is, Ms Thorsden. Anything magical is over to you and Ms Hauptman. Our concern is human … extremists, and while alive to question is always good, squashing sounds a great deal better than any alternative.”

I saw Irpa reassess him. “Un huh, Agent Maretti. And we are glad of the additional protection you offer Mercy, me, and others on her slate who attend. But if you’re good, we need to get on.”

Fae sensibilities made for formality in introducing Þorgerðr and Vorðr, but they seemed to like Jill, and were cheerful with Warren, Jeremiah, and the Freed. Ap Lugh watched with what I thought was mild amusement, and though I wanted a word I was pleased to meet Dave Lemieux, who had paperwork allowing me to use anything I wanted from the back catalogue at rallies. Being the Dead’s archivist apparently made for coolness with the preternatural, and if he was enthusiastic to meet me he was also very efficient, explaining that beyond genuine agreement with my policies advantages were mutual. The _Clean Up the Basin!_ fundraiser had brought them a new tranche of fans, including a younger demographic, and he had plans for cover-art for _Dave’s Picks_ and other archival releases featuring tattoo-Skuffles and, if I had no objection, skeletal coyotes and wolves getting it down. I didn’t, once I’d discovered tattoo-Skuffles wouldn’t be out for a year, and ap Lugh, when asked, assured us an image of skeletal me in the cloak was my business.

“I’ve told you, Mercedes, rose-cloaks like being displayed.” He smiled. “Though what anyone may think of a presidential skeleton adorning a CD is moot.”

“I imagine the skeleton will have a dress as well as the cloak, Gwyn ap Lugh. And dignified would be good, as much as a happy Deadhead can be.”

Lemieux nodded, but put a hand to an earpiece, listened, and told us Irpa would be on when ‘Sugaree’ wound down, in a few. He excused himself to do something technical, taking Irpa, and as everyone else was busy talking to one another I looked at ap Lugh and spoke softly.

“Gwyn ap Lugh, did Irpa tell you what Giant-shortener thought about mini-Grond?”

“She did, Mercedes, and though Nemane remains very doubtful, you may have the right of it. She of Livorno had the magic of rejoining, certainly, however transference to any Undead should not be possible, for it is a magic to maintain life they do not have. But if it proves so, the weapon you have in mind to summon has virtue against all witchcraft. The Dark Smith did not like Morgause at all, nor Dana Shea.”

“With cause, I’d think.”

“Yes. And your innate magic of commanding ghosts may echo.”

That was interesting, but there was no time to do more than express gladness as ‘Sugaree’ ended and Bob Weir spoke.

“Back in the day there was a gig at the Avalon Ballroom when Pigpen swore he’d seen a troll in the audience.” He laughed at the memory. “He was pretty drunk, and the rest of us thought it was funny the only one not tripping had the hallucination. But we owe him an apology, because it turns out Irpa Thorsden was there, and Dave’s found footage to prove it.”

It came up on the screens, and though it was dark and a bit scratchy there was undoubtedly a moment when a full-size Irpa was there, and I felt my grin stretch as the Deadhead beside her looked, blinked, considered the joint in his hand, and offered it. The crowd were laughing but beside me ap Lugh sighed, and I glanced at him.

“It’s a bit late to do anything about improper self-revelation.”

“True, though it’s a good thing I didn’t know at the time.”

“No harm, no foul. And no-one would have believed him anyway.”

I got a sideways look as Bob Weir’s voice came back.

“Isn’t that a blast? And we’re really happy to know Irpa’s a vintage Deadhead, not just because she’s very cool. She’s also running for Congress right here, on Mercy Hauptman’s slate, and I dunno about any of you, though your being here’s a big clue, but we are seriously on board with that. Breadheads have been running everything and messing up for a long while now, and it’s high time for some Deadheads.” He waited out cheers. “So give it up for Irpa Thorsden, our friendly neighbourhood troll and the next Congressional Representative for the California 12th!”

And they did, a wall of sound of their own that had Irpa grinning as she went onstage. It wasn’t just an old hippy crowd, either—there were faces of all ages and shades, and a real hunger for change in their welcome as well as enjoyment of style with substance. They also liked the campaign poster that came on screen, a double image echoing Coyote’s design for mine and Frank’s with a full-size Irpa on one side, muscles bulging as she toted a chunk of what had been The Dalles dam, and Ms Thorsden on the other, standing on the roadway of the Golden Gate. The lettering of her name, down the middle, managed to look runic without being kitschy, and the slogan was STILL HELPING TO BUILD. Ap Lugh was watching and listening intently, and we all heard the crowd’s hunger. So did Irpa, who let it run a minute before holding up a hand and bringing it slowly down.

“That’s a welcome to make any troll glad. I expect you know fae don’t go in for thanks, but hear me when I say I’m very glad these fine musicians agreed to help me launch my campaign. They’ve even agreed to let me sing, by the by, but there’s serious business first, because although this is a bunch of fun, that’s not why I’m running, nor why you’re all here.”

Her voice had a lot of punch, and they were hanging on every word.

“When Mercy Hauptman asked me about doing this, you could have knocked me down with a feather, and that’s rare for trolls. But however big a surprise, it was an easy decision, because what she’s doing doesn’t just matter, it’s safety-critical. Human–Fae war was looking all too possible until she took out Cantrip and Manannán mac Lír, and leveraged the Medicine Wolf Accords. If I were human I’d call it a miracle, and I still call it magic — a ninety-foot rabbit out of an eight-inch hat. The President deserves credit too, and swore the binding oath on all citizens’ behalves. Reaffirming that oath is _the_ single most critical thing his successor has to do — but what have existing candidates, bar one, had to say about that? Not. One. Thing. _Nada_. Bupkis. Zip. Zilch. Just deafening silence, while they witter about not going too green too fast because saving the planet for our children might cut into profits. And you know who the exception is. So first and foremost, I am on the slate because I prefer peace and honour to war and dishonour.”

She waited out more cheers.

“You are so right. Then there’s the green deal. All fae, like other preternaturals, are in tune with the natural world, and know how much trouble it’s in. Climate change affects rivers, and rivers affect bridges. I don’t want them drying up or running wild, and though cleaning up the basin and the Columbia Restoration are wonderful starts we have a lot more to do. Next up, the Cascadia ’quake and evacuation. Medicine Wolf is a game-changer, but earthquakes can’t be stopped, and it will be bad. Yet buildings can be rebuilt and the Medicine Wolf Accords will save lives — but which candidates are saying nothing about that either? And which one agreed to three state governors’ requests to front evacuation info and guidance?”

The crowd responded and got a thumbs-up.

“Right again. And there’s a lot more on the Path of Mercy I could go through, from forensics and S&R to the lost and always stupid war on drugs. And SAGE, which rocks. But I need to tell you some things you don’t already know, and why the California 12th matters so much to me.”

Most would have heard her say she helped build the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges, but the sepia images of construction crews with a more male-looking but recognisable Irpa grinning among them were new to everyone, including me. She was in surviving payment records as Irpo Thorsden, a freakishly strong woman being more of an oddity, and had been given hefty bonuses, three times, for saving lives, as a picture of her having her hand shaken by Jerry Voorhis proved. She genuinely loved those bridges, for all they were steel, and had plans involving troll strength as well as magic for safeguarding them during the Cascadia ’quake. I suspected those would involve the baby manitou of the Sacramento Basin, which might be too young to deal with tectonics but could probably insulate bridge footings, and she’d riveted attention, because while losing either bridge would be a drag for everyone in the Bay Area, for the 12th District it would be catastrophic. She’d seen Tricky Dicky Nixon come and go, and the counter-culture, and Tom Lantos, pitching long residence and real knowledge against the incumbent’s majority. Running on her own it probably wouldn’t have been enough but with both main parties under pressure from above, below, both sides, and left field, Irpa was generating a crackle of belief and determination. And there was more, mixing the wisdom of experience with troll irreverence.

Dave Lemieux came to show us to the entrances, and one by one Irpa invited us out, to funky drum rolls from the Rhythm Devils. Þorgerðr and Vorðr went first, as kin and joint campaign-managers, before ap Lugh was on to swear with tangible power that if elected Irpa’s vote would be her own, and neither he nor any Gray Lord would seek to command it against her will and conscience. He wasn’t exactly a popular public figure, but rightly respected and personal attendance mattered. Jeremiah, next up, got a bigger cheer than he or I had expected, and it was clear pairing this race with the Kentucky senate had caught imaginations ; he read it too, and simple ringing words about standing together for change and renewal hit the mark. Warren, in quality western gear rather than a suit, to his relief, was greeted with a sustained chant of _Born with the USA_ , that was in tune and inspired some musical backing. Even allowing for the Pink Vote here he was taken aback, and I sent strong support via pack bond, but his confidence really was up, and on the sixth or seventh repetition held up a hand and spoke with some drawl.

“Thank you, all — it means a lot that having come out as gay my age matters more. As it should.” He rode out renewed cheering. “But today’s about Irpa Thorsden. I didn’t know her before that night in Wyoming, when she and Þorgerðr got us into Cantrip’s hellhole and helped us and the newly Freed more ways than I can count. That wasn’t a night for joking, and most of what anyone said was practical, but with the Medicine Wolf Accords and all the rest I’ve seen a fair bit of her since, and really come to appreciate troll honour as well as her style and sense of humour. If you try dodging a toll, or damaging a bridge, or hurting her friends, she’s an implacable enemy, but if you talk true and walk straight, she’s an amazing ally and a being I’m proud to know. So whatever happens in other races, you of the California 12th will never regret electing her.” He gave a charming smile. “Main-party placemen and -women might, but I’m good with that, and I reckon you all might be too.”

They might, and told him so, but he’d said what he wanted, and Irpa told him how glad she was before introducing Frank, who also got a much bigger cheer than I’d been expecting, and it wasn’t just that the crowd were already excited. A chant of _Others 101_ rang around the Paddock, and beside me Rachel drew a shaky breath.

“Oh Lord.”

“I know. We have a lot of momentum going for us.”

“So do people who jump off cliffs.”

I gave a wry smile as Frank raised hands and won enough quiet to speak. He’d already honed an Others 101 and Magical Entente sequence to a punchy few minutes about the need to educate ourselves out of mistaken fear and kneejerk hostility, and how it _could_ be done, and _would_ be done, which got another round of cheers and applause. He ended by saying he’d been at least as surprised as Irpa when I’d asked him to consider running, but was proud to do so, and to support Jeremiah in Kentucky and Irpa right here in the California 12th. There was more noise, but Irpa stood tall and fixed the crowd with a troll stare until they quietened.

“That leaves just one more person to introduce, and you know who it is. None of this would be happening but for her, and beyond everything I and others have said, I’ll add that I know of no being, fae, wolf, or anything else, who has fought for justice and right so successfully, so often, and so above her apparent weight. River Devil? Pah! Cantrip? Whah! Manannán mac Lír? Ha! And now the main parties, status quo, SOP, and business as usual don’t know which end is up or what in creation just hit them into last week, so let’s hear it for the woman who should and will be our next president, Mercy Hauptman!”

Crowds I’d addressed at the anti-Cantrip rallies had been much larger, like my TV audiences, but also remote, and this one wasn’t. I’d never walked onstage like this, nor faced such a reception, and even the Dead’s drum rolls and power chords were drowned out by the roar of voices. Screens were showing the Anglo version of my main poster, and I let it run, absorbing energy, before raising and bringing hands slowly down.

“Thank you all — that’s quite a reception for a coyote-girl.” They laughed and grinned, arms waving. “I said I’ll be campaigning differently, and one part of that is not repeating what everybody else has said. But I have three particular things to say to you all, that matter a great deal.”

They quieted, listening as my gravity sank in.

“The first is about the challenge to the main parties we’re making here and in Kentucky, because it’s not a stunt, nor anything but serious. The system is not working, and both main parties are not only incapable of delivering real change, they’re active obstacles. Logic says most of you voted for the incumbent last time, and voting habits are strong. But we are asking you to change, to win that real change, and beyond votes for Irpa we ask you to talk to families, friends, employers or employees, co-workers, teachers, mail and repair people, anyone with a vote in this district you know. If they’re planning to stick with the incumbent, or vote for someone else, why? What do they think that person and party can do? Why doesn’t re-affirming the Medicine Wolf Accords ring their bells loudly enough? Do they seriously think we can go on carelessly polluting the planet to death? Be polite, hey? But push everyone you know, and keep pushing — this can happen, but it is not going to happen without you.”

They cheered themselves for a moment, until I hushed them again.

“That extends to lifelong party stalwarts and officials. I want to beat both main parties hollow in November, because they are not offering what we need, and I want them to take a long hard look at themselves and how they work. I expect you’ve heard the President say the party system is no longer fit for purpose, and he’s right. It needs reinventing and retooling, and the people who need to do that include stalwarts and officials. A vote for Irpa here, or Jeremiah in Kentucky, is not a betrayal, or mere protest — it’s a wake-up call parties need, and four years with neither in office will give them a chance to do some soul-searching and hard thinking. So if anyone says electing me will destroy anything, you can tell them it’s a mercy killing.”

I let the laugh rise and fall.

“The second thing is about Irpa. Like Warren, I didn’t know her or Þorgerðr before that ghastly, necessary night in Wyoming, nor Vorðr before a business-trip to Walla Walla a while back, but I have found female trolls _very_ impressive beings indeed, none more so than Irpa. It’s not just her style, humour, and outstanding musical taste, excellent as those are, nor impressive size, amazing strength, and tip-top club, though all of those earn triple bows of awesomeness, and Giant-shortener is something else.” A hand forestalled more noise. “Having a very big heart doesn’t hurt either, but it’s what she does with all of it, and that is to be a mighty force for good. Ramona Velasquez and other Freed here as security could tell you how thoughtful and kind Irpa was in Wyoming, where she busted silver cages open for us, and later, as they got back to a sane and free life. And though I can’t do detail, I tell you she has become a good friend and done a great deal to help all sorts of people and all the major Pacific North-Western projects. It’s not just troll strength in removing dams, wonderful as that is, but easing change with troll sense, freely donating time and magic, and lightening sore hearts with wise humour. And you’ve heard how she gets this district — whether that means your great bridges, the counterculture you nurtured, or the grimmer world we’ve all faced since. She might have been surprised I asked her, but I knew what I was doing, and so will you when you elect her to Congress — where she will not only be a Congresstroll to remember, a distinctive voice, but a true force for change and good. Remember you won’t just be electing her to speak for you, but to argue for you with others, and trolls are not so easy to argue with. So I ask you to give it up, loud and long, for Irpa Thorsden, troll extraordinaire.”

I’d been holding the crowd down, getting it all out, and when I took off the brakes they did give it up, loud and long. Irpa came to stand beside me, and after a moment gave me a sidelong look.

“I’m beginning to understand why you jibbed at Underhill’s statue, Mercy. This is going to take some getting used to.”

“Oh yeah, but like the statue it’s true. Stay for number three?”

She nodded, and we waited out the noise.

“You do have some voice today. Thanks. And the third thing” — the cloak flipped itself back so my dress showed clearly — “is this. _I do not need enemies to know who I am._ Nor do most of you, I’m betting, and nor should the United States of America. A major drive of my campaign, and presidency if I win, is about breaking the sick habit so many of us have of finding enemies comforting, and necessary. We fought a war of independence. Well and good. But we also fought wars with Spain, Britain again, First People, Mexico, ourselves, Fascism, Japanese Imperialism, Communism, ourselves again, Korea, Vietnam, drugs, Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, and terror. And we extend it to domestic and civil life, persecuting colour, creed, orientation, gender, liberalism, and anything else we can think of. _Basta!_ Once and for all, enough already. By our Constitution we are secular and tolerant, allowing freedom to all because we each want it ourselves. By history and nature, we are a multiculture. And by our anthem we are the land of the free and the home of the brave. You know what everyone on this stage is doing about the mess we’re in, and just how short we’ve all been falling of ideals we share. But what is anyone else doing? Ask them, hey? And keep on asking me, because we have a long way to go, and all your ideas are welcome. Whatever else I’m doing, I am reaching out to everyone, every citizen, no matter age or colour or creed. We have been a great nation, and we can be again, but like a November victory that won’t happen by itself. I hope you’ll vote for Irpa, and Frank and me, but yea or nay, I ask you all, very seriously, to think about yourselves, and what it means to be a US citizen in the twenty-first century. Think about it, talk about it, and act on your conclusions. And when you vote in November, remember you’re not just voting for a president and representatives, you’re voting on whether a whole bunch of tomorrows will be better, or worse, for you and your children and grandchildren. Good luck with that, and I hope the Christian God I believe in will be with us all, and bless us all.”

There was a great deal more noise, and with my face beginning to ache from smiling I realised I had to do some thinking about exits as well as entrances. Fortunately Irpa had done some of her own, and as the crowd saw the mike we’d been using moved back to where Bob Weir was standing with a grin, and three more brought on in a row at stage-right they quieted. Irpa turned to the band.

“You know the one, guys, and quite up-tempo, please. And Prince, everyone else, you need to stay stage-left.”

We weren’t going to argue, though I heard ap Lugh sigh.

“Problem?”

“No. Edythe gave Irpa permission. It is only that her style is not mine.”

“Call it an expanded repertoire, and not boring.”

I collected a fae fisheye, but Dave Lemieux brought Rachel to join Frank, and Brent, David, and Jill to rejoin me, while Irpa, Þorgerðr, and Vorðr lined up at the mikes, glamour shimmering as dresses acquired a sparkle and, I thought, narrowing my eyes, a different bias in the skirts. Irpa’s certainly swung differently as she leaned forward.

“And to round things off, people, you get the three and only Grateful Dead with Triple Troll and Purity.”

She gestured, an arch opened, and a gleaming silver horn slid slowly out, followed by the rest of Purity in a bound. The arch vanished and the crowd stared in silence at the unicorn, who stared back before turning to look at us and trot forward. Ap Lugh got a nod, returned, but it was me Purity wanted, angling her head to look at me with one liquid eye, then the other. They weren’t usual horse-brown, but a deep blue-green, lashes as silvery as her horn, and her regard was both absolute, making me feel she saw right through me, and profoundly heartening, because she liked what she saw. Gracefully, she gently lowered her head so the horn rested on my shoulder in benediction, and my hand rose to touch her muzzle, stroking silken hair. Silence deepened, anticipation swirling. Then Purity backed a step, lifting her horn clear, turned to nod to each member of the band, returned centre stage, raised a hoof, and tapped out an up-tempo cue, one, two, three, _four_.

It’s hard to describe what it was like, other than to say it was deeply magical, and even that’s misleading. There was no magic directed at the crowd, because it was appeal, not compulsion, but ‘Scarlet Begonias’ has never been funkier, and the Dead have always done the funk well. And Purity wasn’t just bopping, as she had at Sacajawea State Park, but blessing and expressing the desire for change with graceful horn-arabesques that left a faint silver trail in the air, or the eyes, as sparklers do when you wave them. Triple Troll were shimmying, strong hands snapping fingers in an achingly complex, relentlessly dancing counterpoint to the Rhythm Devils’ own complexities. And when they hit the choric verse, where back in the day Donna Jean Godchaux’s eerie voice joined Jerry Garcia’s, the harmony that twined around Bob Weir’s voice was infused with emotions, those Robert Hunter meant in writing the lines, and others preternaturals would understand better.

_Well I ain’t often right but I’ve never been wrong_

_It seldom turns out the way it does in the song_

_Once in a while you can get shown the light_

_In the strangest of places if you look at it right_

It wasn’t only Underhill’s sunlight and fourteen dusty vamps, or even what Wulfe had called the terror of it and I’d call the joke, because we were showing the light in more ways than that, to everyone. And though I really wasn’t going to let moves out, standing still was not an option. Even ap Lugh was feeling it, one elegant shoe tapping, the cloak swung with me as I shifted Manannán’s Bane from hand to hand, Jill’s feet were shuffling, and the crowd finding room to sway and turn, despite packed density.

When they hit the last verse Triple Troll came back in, and this time there was a punch of magical celebration that was also exhortation.

_Strangers stopping strangers just to shake their hand_

_Everybody is playing in the heart of gold band_

_Heart of gold band_

With the wordless soaring cries Donna Jean had invented to cap the lyrics, rethinking Grace Slick for herself, the emotions were back with more, for wordless as they were these troll voices came from millennia of strange knowledge and experience, raised in desire, benison, and challenge, sustained for what felt like an eternity by larger lungs than anything human possessed. There was also something behind them that called to my inmost magic, and I understood viscerally with some wonder. But at last they peaked and faded, letting the band surge forward into the long coda that allowed them to jam, inspired drums stuttering around one another and spiralling, sliding guitar and bass licks, while Triple Troll could step back from the mikes and show more fae funk to complement Purity’s mesmerising combinations of horn-swirls, tail twitches, arching, undulating body, and four-hoof tap-dancing.

Quite what it had to do with campaigning I didn’t know, or much care, and doing it differently was half the point anyway. The other halves were that impossible things could and did happen, and some of the time they could be _fun_ as well as stretching your head sideways ; and a continuing insistence on broadening what the preternatural meant, and how varied it was. It worked, too, because when the band finally came down, resisting the segue into ‘Fire on the Mountain’, and the last note died away there was a dazed silence, Purity nodded again to each musician, trolls, and us before vanishing by arch ; then San Francisco invented the chant I was going to hear often and in many places.

_Mercy’s slate! Mercy’s slate! Mercy’s slate!_

Big crowds can have a clever collective mind, and it was perfect, allowing Warren, Jeremiah, Frank, and me to walk forward, Irpa joining us, link hands, and raise them, human, wolves, avatar, and fae united in purpose and mind. I had no more to say, and after a moment we just waved farewell, thanked the band — who all said no thanks were needed, and Triple Troll could sit in on any gig they liked — and took ourselves off while the chant thundered on.

Dave Lemieux had a dazed look but shook himself to tell us the video would be up on dead.net by tonight, and give me a flash drive with copies as well as a bag of Purity tees.

“Boy, but that was something else.” He laughed. “I can’t wait to see what headlines anyone comes up with.”

“Who knows? They surely have choices. And thank you for everything.”

“Nada, Mercy. Campaigning for you and Irpa has all the guys wide awake and in agreement. It’s been a while, so I’m very happy about that. And about you and your slate.”

I had to touch base with Maretti, and discovered I wouldn’t be seeing him in Lexington, but would at Sacajawea SP. What he’d made of it all I wasn’t sure, but there was warmth in his tone, and more when he thanked Ramona and the Freed — who had, I gathered, been very helpful with a drunken but harmless drifter who’d tried to come in through woods from Fulton Street. They were all revved with excitement and the coolness of it, but quieted to let me talk with Þorgerðr and Vorðr, who’d be staying in SF. Then we went back to the Garden of Manannán’s Death, and Gwyn ap Lugh took his leave, smiling.

“It is not every day I am able to do something new, Mercy, so I am not repining, despite all the noise. And now you are the first presidential candidate ever to have been endorsed by a unicorn. Enjoy.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

Other people echoed ap Lugh’s advice. Alan Villiers and Jeremiah were sober about it, not being Deadheads, but they’d been as whammied as everyone, and were beginning to see how unexpected style could work. Their waiting pack were fizzing, but I didn’t linger. Rachel and Frank were staying with Andrea for the night, and she and Jesse were so bouncy when we de-arched into the hall they both gave triple bows of awesomeness. Even my disreputable da was impressed, and had already concocted a poster showing me in mutual contact with a unicorn, and the slogan ENDORSED BY PURITY, with smaller lettering underneath, WHO DOESN’T HAVE A VOTE. BUT STILL.

“Who knew unicorns were so interesting? She can dance, too.”

“Oh yeah. And trolls can sing.”

“You bet. Good speeches all round.”

Slowly we sorted ourselves out, Warren departing to meet Kyle with Freed, though Ramona stayed, while Dan and the Joes headed home now Brent and Jill were back. We adjourned with David’s crew to the kitchen, where Darryl had chicken curry cooking, and I broke out beers, sighing as the first gulp went down.

“That was wonderful, but a little normality is good.”

“Yeah. But that kinda is your normal, Mercy.” I couldn’t read David’s gaze. “You might have warned us about Purity.”

“Why spoil the surprise, David? She’s no threat, and unicorn movements are so not my responsibility.”

Andrea gave a joyous laugh. “Perfect. And it was all perfect. Irpa rocked, Dad rocked, you rocked, and God knows the Dead rocked. And funked, and something there isn’t a word for. No-one knows what to say, but preliminary polling’s looking _very_ good, for everyone on the slate, not just you and Irpa. Jesse?”

“Same on all feeds, Mom, Frank. There was a lot of concern and anger earlier, about the shooting last night, but it’s been washed away by, well, an even mix of _WTF?_ and _Woot!_ would cover it.”

“I bet. And school?”

“The same. A lot of concern I did my best to calm before you pretty much took over.”

“You did calm it, Miss Hauptman.” Connor gave me a thumbs-up. “Good decision to go into school, and just being there reassured folks. We got some welcome-back, too, and Ms Stallings knows about Jesse’s concealed-carry license. And she’s right that once the show started it was all eyes to phones. Teachers too. When we left they were happy people.”

“Good job, Jesse. Anyone know about reaction at Uncle Mike’s?”

The fae bar would have been packed, and Darryl spoke from the range.

“George and Honey were there, and she says you get the whole crowd’s triple bows too, if for different reasons, but they’re still chewing on the joke. Or irony. Either way, your … chutzpah in dealing with vamps is drawing respect. The fae knew Purity was going to show, and what song she’d want, but the synergy with that verse left them very thoughtful.”

“Me too, Mercy.” I met Rachel’s gaze. “You did … I can’t quite say plan this, because I get that the vampires chose to attack, but … set it up so that if they did, when you thought they would, things you’d be doing anyway would have … what? An extra set of meanings?”

“Yeah, that’s about right, Rachel, but not at first. The Dead and the public performance were Irpa’s doing, but we saw the possibility of the sequence we got.”

“And it’s aimed at Bonarata?”

“Mostly. I doubt the head Undead is much of a Deadhead, but he’ll get the scorn and hear the laughter. More incentive taunting. But we want US vamps to decide to register, and being shown the light is really not something they want. The joke sets them up for _#DaywalkingByNight_. I gave it to Stefan, and he and Wulfe will push it.”

“Ah. OK. You do have good reasons. The combination of … dismissals and derogation was troubling me.”

“Yeah. Black humour should squick some, Rachel, but it’s cathartic. I engineered fourteen dismissals last night, and made sure I saw them so I knew exactly what I’d done. But I’d do it again, if I had to, and the joke says so. Plus I really _don’t_ like Wulfe, however he is obliging me to think somewhat better of him. Did you hear the tape? Then you’ll have heard why. With the best will in the world he’s a very powerful creep. And beyond vamps, other preternatural ears will hear things. Not all full-blood fae and few half-fae will have known how closely Underhill is willing to co-operate, while the presence of ap Lugh, with Purity’s performance and Triple Troll’s, boost my rep more.” I drank beer, and sighed. “Which matters, because not everyone knows much about my magical growth, but all know I’ve stepped up several leagues in one bound, and there are plenty of things, Underhill and Overhill, that equate newbie with vulnerable. I don’t expect real trouble but banking discouragement points is always good. I can’t say there’s no sense of triumph or cold satisfaction, because we’re in a war and, however dusty, last night was a step towards winning with the fewest casualties. But maximising profits doesn’t mean I don’t feel some guilt, and pity.”

“While the Undead get the terror.” Jill shrugged. “It’s not wrong to celebrate deaths of enemies who attack you, Rachel, and for an avatar, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars has way-high scruples about the Undead. But there’s another layer. How much of her innate magic Irpa senses I am not sure, but it is no kind of chance the music was by the Grateful Dead, nor that it is May 1st. In the centuries since coming West, Undead have killed humans by thousands and avatars by hundreds, and some of the ghosts are with She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars in this war, if not her campaign. I do not have the eyes of He Sees Spirits, but there were more than troll voices to be heard in those sounds.”

“Dear God.”

“Really?”

Rachel and Andrea looked at one another.

“Yes to both. I doubt many heard it, even with preternatural ears, but avatars will have, and I’ve been wondering about Wulfe.”

“Vamps wouldn’t usually, and it was spirit magic.” Coyote shrugged. “Though _he_ might, I suppose. He does have talents. Does it matter?”

“Probably not, but we had mini-Grond and now we have an army of dead, even if they only sing along the once.”

His eyes lit up. “Point, synergistic daughter. But I don’t think that’s Wulfe’s doing, despite the nice battering-ram. It’s your innate magic getting amplified by the cloak. You think about Tolkien, so it does too. And if Wulfe did hear, he’ll know it’s an answer and a warning. You told him, _Good one, but no more dead, or else, fang-face_.”

The silly joke broke tension, and though I was wondering what Nemane might have heard, I wasn’t going to ask. I did call Bran, though, taking a beer to Adam’s study, and found him very upbeat.

“You’re cheery.”

“I am, Mercy. Watch the news.”

“Italy?”

“Yes.” He gave highlights, and my smile spread. “It is timed so East Coast papers will already have gone to press. Every last one has images of Purity on stage, and gives you the headline. But you may lose top billing for a day or two.”

“Fine by me. Ol’ Manitou River will get it back smartly enough.”

“True. Do you ring with a problem?”

“I don’t think so, but I have a question. Did you hear anything singing except humans and trolls?”

He gave me a look. “Not that I can name, Mercy, but spirit magic was doing something. By TV it was only a feather along my nerves. It was more potent there, I take it?”

“To me and Jill, yeah, and Coyote, here. And he has a theory.” I told Bran, adding my thought about Nemane and asking him to sound gently when he got the chance. “Ghosts are not Fae business but given Nemane’s putative dealings with Wulfe a heads-up seems reasonable.”

“When you put it like that. I too wonder about those, though it is none of my business and I have enough on my plate. But I think Coyote is right you need not be concerned. Some orchestration to go with amplification, perhaps. You made Tolkien a metaphor, and it gives your magics language.”

“Wonderful. Any thoughts about the fact avatars did hear?”

“Not especially. Should I have?”

“Pass. Then again, I’m wondering how many avatars the fourteen had killed. I have no idea, but I’m reminded of why I originally magicked-up Skuffles because we have joint warning and cathecting again.”

He thought about it. “Vengeful as well as grateful dead, but a burden eased for living avatars, maybe. More of your WD-40.”

“I suspect so. It would be so nice to know what I’m doing.”

Bran laughed. “But you do, Mercy. Just not always consciously, until you’ve done it. Don’t double-guess yourself. There was no discord in any power shown today, and you are harnessing the hope that springs eternal very handily, so get up tomorrow and do it some more.”

It was all very well him saying so, but I was happier with a clearer sense of what had happened, and ghosts deserved to be heard by whoever could manage it. A call to Jim helped as well, and he was as clear as Coyote about spirit magic. Not being an avatar he’d heard the dead only faintly, but agreed about ghosts of avatars and WD-40 for living ones.

“Anglos are one thing, Mercy, and those who most harmed us are long dead. So are vamps, of course, except they’re not, and what you did last night and today was to count coup on them, big time, dancing your victory on more levels and planes than I can count. Many spirits danced with you.”>

“Ahhh. Thanks, Jim. I knew there was an angle I was missing.” I shook my head. “Indian enough to do it, not enough to realise it. What am I going to do with me?”

Jim grinned. “Keep on keeping on, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. Maybe you should get Coyote to do another poster like that one with the circle of stone knives and the blacking-out, saying _River Devil? Pah!_ ”

“And maybe I shouldn’t. I’ll be having a word with Irpa about that.”

“Don’t bother. Gordon laughed. And belittling those on whom you’ve counted coup is good form. They were weak nothings, and I triumphed over them easily. Boasting modesty.”

“Huh. I prefer modest boasting. But Coyote didn’t say anything.”

“To you. He was watching here, and did some coup strutting of his own. You’ve exceeded his very high expectations, and weren’t you the best idea he’d had in centuries of maintaining a stellar standard?”

“Double huh.” But I had some warm and fuzzy feelings. “I still think the poster would be a boast too far, so don’t give my advertising father ideas, please, Jim. He really doesn’t need encouragement. Now can we talk about First People to meet Medicine Wolf and Ol’ Manitou River, please?”

We did, and I headed back to the kitchen table and cheerful hubbub. Adam was home, and rose from a seat by David to give me a hug with a wash of congratulation, raising eyebrows at my response.

“Corp’s filled me in some, but you’ll have to spell that out for me later, love, and no-one who saw it was anything except blown away. My clients are beginning to think hard about you winning.”

“That’s good, and we do need to talk.” I looked at him. “You must be dragging. I had eight straight Underhill.”

“I sensed you get your fizz back, and yeah, I’m feeling it.”

“So sit, and get back to your beer.”

I went to sit by Rachel, talking to Ramona while Andrea listened, and when conversation about huorns and earth fae lapsed offered Rachel the counting-coup take on events.

“You didn’t think of it like that?” Jill was surprised. “You hit every traditional requirement. It’s a long time since I saw anyone strut a coup so righteously.”

“She is half-Anglo, Bear’s daughter.” Coyote grinned. “And distracted by pity for bloodsuckers, despite everything. Give her a millennium or two and she’ll remember, maybe.”

“Oy! You did some strutting of your own, I gather, putting peacocks to shame.”

“Of course I did. Your glory reflects _very_ well on me, as it should.”

He was incorrigible, and I had better things to do than argue with him, however it amused others. Darryl deserved help, if only setting water to boil and measuring Basmati, and Jesse pitching in told me she was craving some normality too. My phone pinged several times — Oregon and Washington, Leslie, the AED, and the Man offering tips of their hats, that I acknowledged minimally, pleading exhaustion that was more emotional than physical — but I saw Jesse relax as we sat to eat and she began to restoke. Darryl’s curry was very tasty, hot enough to grip without being a trial for the less keen, and there were compliments that pleased him.

I was happy to be largely silent, but conversation was interesting. I thought everyone had had enough rehashing the day, however they might still be digesting it, and more practical matters were a relief. Earth fae were on the agenda, and extra security for Jesse and me, with how David wanted to work it, Frank’s and Rachel’s experiences with Secret Service guys looking after them in Philly, and campaign business. Dessert was banoffee pie, and I was talking to Darryl about Mr Andrews and the fruitcake we owed when Frank asked a serious question.

“WashU wants the lecture early evening Friday, as a lead-in to your debate, but I wasn’t sure how it fitted with Ol’ Manitou River.”

“Sounds good to me, Frank. We’re both at the Arch, you head off late afternoon for the lecture, and I’ll follow.”

He frowned. “But isn’t that when you’re expecting …”

“Probably. You don’t have to be there for that.”

He looked troubled. “You’re protecting me? I feel like I’d be ducking out on you when I should be standing up.”

“It’s a good thought, Frank, but there are reasons. David?”

“Yeah. You aim to be carrying, firing if there’s need, Mr Lafferty?”

“Uh, no. I don’t own a gun.”

“Then the bottom line is you’d be an extra target to protect. I don’t mean to be rude but being someone else’s responsibility somewhere else would be more helpful.”

“Oh. OK. If you’re sure, Mercy.” Frank made a face. “Still feels wrong, but I get what Mr Christiansen is saying. Maybe I have more residual chauvinism than I like to think.”

“Not chauvinism, Dad, chivalry.” Andrea’s eyes were bright. “Mercy has a bunch too, but you’ve seen the statue. She has more experience of necessary violence. Doesn’t mean Mom and I aren’t very grateful, Mercy.”

“No it doesn’t.” Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “And you gave WashU that timing, didn’t you? Planned for Frank’s safety while you play bait?”

I shrugged. “Frank needs to be at the Arch and wants to be at the debate, so when the Chancellor asked about an extra event it fitted. They get a bonus, and if Bonarata does happen I’ll have other things to do fast.”

“I imagine. But I’m feeling guilty about pushing you earlier. It’s hard to remember just how much strain you’re under.”

“Don’t be, Rachel. Coyote black humour has a lot of edges.” Her regard made me want to shuffle my feet, and I checked my watch. “But I’d like to catch the main news, if no-one minds.”

Darryl rose with a grin to flip on the small set on the side. “Getting a taste for seeing yourself, Mercy?”

“Not at all. I’m hoping I’ve been knocked off top billing.”

And I had. The improbable tale was that the Italian authority dealing with stolen art had received an anonymous tip-off, about a remote villa in the Lepini Mountains between Rome and Naples. When they investigated they found the place deserted, doors open, and what was visible had them escalating their response fast, calling in many more varieties of cop and the Army. Dozens of stolen paintings by major artists had been recovered — Rembrandt, Vermeer, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Caravaggio — with several score kilos of cocaine, heroin, and crystal meth, but it wasn’t that that had jacked the story to the top. In a walk-in vault in the cellars, door drilled open, there had been more than two hundred tons of gold bars, worth over $12 billion, and they still didn’t know how much more in cut and uncut gemstones. The Army was transporting them to the Central Bank in Rome, and there were shots of small, heavy crates being lugged into lorries while soldiers bristled SMGs in all directions.

That would have been enough to boost the story globally, but was only the starter. Besides stolen paintings there had been lost ones — the kind mentioned in studio or estate inventories somewhere, somewhen, but vanish — and a great deal else. An elderly professor who was all but in tears confirmed several additional journals of Leonardo’s had been found, with paintings and sculptures he’d swear were authentic, and historians babbled about the vast manuscript library they’d barely begun to investigate — but had a catalogue listing letters and papers in the hands of most Borgias, assorted Sforzas, d’Estes, popes and city-state bigwigs, and Sigismondo Malatesta, the Wolf of Rimini. There were mediaeval copies of Greek and Latin poets that had a team of classicists equally excited. All in all, it was the biggest discovery that could be imagined, and would set off academic earthquakes throughout the humanities. There were also the mysteries of who might be responsible for amassing it, how anyone could have done so, and what on earth had happened to expose it, which made for much official scratching of heads and grim-faced promises that investigation would be unrelenting.

When Irpa and I came up as item two I rose to kill the sound, feeling considerable satisfaction as well as pleasure for historians and others so unexpectedly given enormous surprise presents.

“Been there, done that. And that investigation is going to take a left turn before too long. Bonarata is really not going to be a happy vamper. Big personal loss. Nor are his minions, with a further big financial loss.”

“No, they’re not.” David whistled. “Body blow. Do you know how the Marrok got the location?”

“Di Ragusa had it on his phone when Charles broke the encryption. Italian wolves took out resident guards, and the CIA diverted a vamp-controlled drug run to provide probable cause and trigger escalated response.” I grinned. “They moved Vermeer’s _The Concert_ to be visible from the front door, so when the truth breaks they might be able to claim the ten million in reward money. Their expenses are covered, though, with Bran’s, some gold having gone AWOL when they drilled the vault.”

Coyote laughed. “Good detail.”

“Dear God. Again.” Rachel shook her head. “I’m not sure you should be telling me things like that, Mercy.”

“No US territory involved, nor laws broken, Rachel, and if the Italian police knew, I doubt they’d care. Besides, those wolves need to do some hiding, until, and costs add up.”

“I dare say they do. I’m just not used to … The CIA? And _took out resident guards_? Vampires?”

“It was daytime, so no. Renfields. Bran didn’t say much, but they died when they were restrained, which is vamp security magic. There were three coffined vamps, all known bad news — a shift from Bonarata’s second-tier — and all now dismissed.” I shrugged. “I know there’s a squick factor, but you get vamps coffined if you can — it’s a whole bunch easier, and keeps casualties down. And we now know Underhill’s slugs work.”

“Good.” Adam blew out a breath. “I trusted they would, but am a _lot_ happier to know it. And the pressure Bonarata’s now under is immense. Which reminds me that word sheep bereaved last night are receiving medical and psychiatric care paid from the Borrowed Warchest has gone out. The Feebs have them at a secure military hospital.”

“How many?”

“Forty-two. How many will make it is moot, love, but their chances just went from zero to maybe.”

“Yeah. Any word on unbereaved sheep?”

“Hard to check on them without attracting attention, and Wulfe wasn’t lying when he said they were OK.”

“No. Can’t say I trust his values of OK, though. And you should get horizontal. I can field anything that comes up, and the Secret Service will be on Frank, Rachel, and Andrea, plus Freed on Andrea’s building overnight.”

That Adam went with very little demur told me how tired he was. He wouldn’t usually have forgotten to mention the bereaved, and knew I’d been wondering about them. I thought about calling Leslie, but didn’t really want chapter-and-verse — I knew what the medical problems would be — and I had guests giving me looks.

“What?”

“Just you and Dad being awesome some more, Mom.” Jesse smiled. “Looking out for everyone and thinking on so many levels. More mouthwatering history for you too, Mr Lafferty.”

“Yes, indeed. Not my continent or period, but the diaries of Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia have to be something else. I hadn’t thought about what kind of library a septuacentenarian might have accumulated.”

“Depends on the kind of being, Frank. Bran’s moved around, so he hasn’t acquired much. Bonarata’s stayed very put, and given that inventory he’s a hoarder. Jill?”

“Not before I had a house, but since then, yeah, stuff builds up. And I have a fair bit of older beadwork.”

“Interesting. Do you have stuff, Strutting Coyote?”

He grinned at me. “Good one, Sir She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. I think Purity’s shoulder-tap counts as a knighting.” I rolled my eyes as Andrea and Jesse laughed. “And not really. Stuff’s sessile, and I’m so not. It doesn’t cross well between worlds, either. And I lose things. But Gordon has more family stuff, and Wolf likes his old weapons.”

“First People’s weapons?”

“Bows and axes, certainly, but just weapons, from all over. Had a thing for Japanese swords last century. I think he’s on boomerangs now. Likes the carving and shapes.”

I could imagine Wolf having an aesthetic response to a beautiful as well as functional weapon. He liked his high-end clothing and kit. Across the table Vinnie had a crooked smile.

“Wolf likes boomerangs. Who knew? I’d can’t say I’d forgotten how you do things, Ms Hauptman, but it’s in the moment, not the memory. Saving the need, it’s a scary pleasure to be back.”

“And an education that never stops.” John-Julian’s smile was crooked too. “I can feel my head expanding again, and I thought it was stretched this afternoon.”

“You didn’t believe in unicorns, JJ?” Lincoln grinned, flashing white teeth. “Or you didn’t know they did quadruple tap?”

“Knew those fine, Linc. Well, not the tap. Did anyone? It was the Grateful Dead being so funky.”

I wagged a finger. “That shouldn’t surprise, John-Julian. They were never just rockers, or bluesmen. There’s some excellent jazzy stuff in the catalogue, but for funky try 1980s versions of ‘He’s Gone’. Bob Weir and Brent Mydland could really get into it on vocals.”

“True.” Jesse tapped her phone. “I’ll send a YouTube link.”

“Thanks. Like I said, Linc, the education never stops. I also wanted to say we’ve all really liked things you’ve been saying about that, Mr Lafferty. Schedule can always get blown away, but we’d be up for Others 101 and the Magical Entente. Gramps is the only preternatural, of course, but we all know about judging beings as we find them, and no other way.”

Frank was pleased, as I was, but I had a caution.

“David, has Adam talked to you about the request the Man made?”

“Yeah. Retainer’s always good, and as it wouldn’t impede rescue work, and could be local, very probably. Finding out more about T&C is on my list, but I’m not sure who in the Administration to ask.”

“Wiseman. Enforcement will be for Farouts. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

David blinked, but nodded. “That would be good. Thanks. And you punched right through to the Chair of the Joint Chiefs as well. Westfield might be in charge, Mercy, but you’re running this show, aren’t you?”

“No. Well, yes and no. Strategy and timing, yes, execution, no. And I insisted on Westfield, David, because he won’t let humans go genocidal.”

“Huh. And preternaturals?”

“She took care of that with us and the Fae.” Coyote was still grinning. “Ever so sternly, and not wrongly, much as I despise the Undead. Ordered all Alphas, too.”

“Ordered?” David’s gaze swung back to me. “I heard there was an Alpha conference. You or the Sarge?”

“Both of us, David. My dominance now equals his, when I want.” I hauled it up, and his eyes widened. “And now’s a good time, as you need to know, but this is _not_ spoken of, anywhere, until.” I reclaimed the cloak from its hanger, and shifted my chair. “Skuffles?”

She appeared, front paws on the table, and cocked her head.

_I was wondering when you’d get round to your Maxi-me. I am being a hole-card for now, David Christiansen and company, and it is complicated, but all that matters is Mercy’s will is my will, so I am altogether on your side, I have serious teeth of many kinds, and I am very fast. For the rest, David saw my genesis in Aspen Creek, and can extrapolate._

Whatever David’s reply might have been was forestalled as my phone played the opening of Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirty’. I wasn’t entirely surprised, but regretted the timing as I hauled it out and tapped.

“Mr Director, others hear us, though none who aren’t in most loops, Do I need to change that?”

<Not on my account, Ms Hauptman. Despite my admiration for another extraordinary performance today, I’d have let you be except I was asked to pass on a message with good news in tow.>

“A message? Italy?”

<Yes. The drives Italian wolves passed to us had very interesting contents, so some people who found themselves suddenly a lot less sceptical have received fuller briefings, and send you … well, bemused but genuine thanks covers it. A lot more interdiction ops against drugs and people smuggling are underway. More cashflow pressure on Bonarata. But the targets are human, and the Italians won’t move against vamps until they have what we’ve been calling magic swords. Hard to argue.>

“I get that, Mr Director. They need to think about sheep, too.”

<Yeah. I’ve seen the Bureau’s report on those … bereaved, is it, last night, and I told them so. I have people repeating it. Can’t say if they’re really hearing, but they are moving fast on interdiction, which means expanding circles of coverage across Europe. Problem?>

I mulled. “I don’t think so, even if someone makes a leap of imagination. But no confirmation of vamps would be a lot better than any official revelation. The whole point is to make Bonarata come to us, and he can’t if Europe goes vamp bananas.”

<No going vamp bananas. Right.> I could hear his smile. <I’ll make that clear. Clock’s ticking, though, Ms Hauptman. And you upped the stakes again this afternoon. My analysts are gibbering about showing the light.>

“Good luck to them, Mr Director, and to you finding a Deadhead who’ll appreciate a CIA enquiry. But I hear you about the clock. No way round it. Just hold it down until St Louis, if you possibly can, please. After that, whichever way, we’ll all have to play it by ear.”

<And then some, yeah. But I don’t need that Deadhead, Ms Hauptman, because I’ve been one myself for years, on the sly. A bit like the President, I don’t advertise it, because, but I listen. And I’ve been appreciating your way of layering meanings. But I’ve got another European incoming, despite the hour here and there, so I have to cut and run. You keep on keeping on.>

He cut the link and I put away my phone, head spinning a little and conscious of stares from round the table.

“Jill, Strutting Coyote, both Jim Alvin and the Director of the CIA tell me to keep on keeping on. Any comment?”

The voices were in unison. “Do it.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

Before breakfast, I took the Secret Service and David’s crew to meet earth fae, which was entertaining. After breakfast, and seeing Jesse off, a bubbling Mary and Maya arrived, very happy with media coverage. Purity and I dominated all the West Coast papers too, with strange if positive headlines about blessings in Bison Paddock and troll truths, but the Italian story was also running big. Images of paintings, documents, drugs, and stacked gold bars had been released, speculation had gone hyper, and even more babbling experts had been called in. Having the world agog at his personal hoard had to be a real pisser for Bonarata, above the financial and material loss, but Maya wasn’t in the loop so we talked manitous. Arrangements were nearly complete, more so when I added those I’d made with Jim. Maya went to make calls, and Mary eyed me over coffee.

“You seem unsurprised by this astonishing villa. It was expected?”

“A different Italian job. Bonarata’s gonna be seething. And his seethe.”

She grinned but her look was serious. “Right. You’re OK in yourself?”

“I wish I could wait faster, Mary. But yeah. And Adam’s a lot happier after better than ten straight.” He’d had a happy awakening, too, for both of us. “He’ll be back for lunch.”

“Noted. And Irpa? She’s knee-deep in reporters.”

“She said she’d meet us Underhill. I’ll call her when we’re ready to go.”

“Maybe sooner, Mercy? The bridge-building and Cascadia stuff has really punched Californian buttons, as well as everything punching national ones, so she’s in heavy demand this morning.”

“Will do, Mary, but when a troll wants to leave, it leaves.”

“Mid-interview still isn’t recommended. What else are you up to?”

“Paperwork, mostly. Some business with David. A work-out. I should call Leslie too, about sheep. Oh, and clothing should be arriving.”

“I’ll let Jill and Joel know when it does.”

I took David to Adam’s study and called Wiseman before heading for my desk. Sales of _Clean Up the Basin!_ merchandise were surging, so I called a senior staffer to check they were coping, which they were though if it continued more hands would be needed. I also had a call from a thoughtful Andrea, to tell me her dad was writing his lecture, her mom had gone to meet the Freed’s earth fae, and she was really grateful to me for protecting them.

“What David said was straight up.”

<I know. And all the same. I said you’d taught me a lot about birds and stones, but this is … I dunno. More integrated than I can hold in my head. The vamp thing and the election seemed distinct, however they overlap and the story should boost you when it breaks, but you’re fusing them.>

“Only so much time in the day, Andrea.”

<Except when there’s more.> That was hard to argue, after my 32-hour yesterday. <But yeah, use what you have to do anyway. But you’re using it … I still dunno. Did you expect whatever you and Jill heard?>

“No. That was a surprise. These days my magic tends to go above and beyond. But it makes sense, Andrea. Vamp victims are not happy ghosts, and hang around. Avatars feel it, and most are older than me, with greater accumulated loss.” I shrugged. “I don’t yet know how well any cathecting worked. And it’s just opportunism. Irpa really is a Deadhead, Purity really likes that song, and it happens to have a useful bit of lyric. Or two.”

<Un huh. And you made it say different things to humans and each preternatural kind while including Purity’s blessing and creating a video which has gone viral everywhere. I’ll spare you more triple bows, Mercy, though I’m thinking them, because I’m wondering how much you’ll be saying about events when it does break.>

“As much as I can, Andrea. Certainly the ultimatum, with some background, Borrowed Warchest, di Ragusa, Wednesday night, Italy, and whatever St Louis throws up, if it does. ‘Scarlet Begonias’ they can figure out for themselves, but _#DaywalkingByNight_ will be there so I expect someone will get it. Does it matter?”

<Maybe. If I’m getting … cognitive dissonance about how you’re holding it together while you know you’re being hunted, which I am, as are Mom and Dad, so will other people. You did _not_ come over yesterday as a woman who’d dealt with fourteen dead would-be assassins only hours before.>

I shrugged. “File under coyote, mostly. Unless you’re an apex predator there’s always something that might be hunting you. That’s life.”

<Huh. That could have some legs. What hunts coyotes?>

“Ranchers, mostly. But vamps hunt avatars, and the River Devil hunted everything. I’m plenty tense, Andrea, but there’s no point jittering. Still, if you think this can become a PR problem …?”

<A thing, perhaps. When you do speak of it, saying you’re very relieved and the strain has been hell might be wiser than not.>

I took that under advisement, but made myself think about it as I went back to paperwork. Being Iron Coyote ought to be good PR, but people liked candidates to come over as human, and as I’m not entirely any seeming inhumanity might not be good. And I _was_ feeling the strain, and the frustration of having to hurry up and wait, but beyond lodging the thought in my backbrain there wasn’t anything I could do. With paperwork cleared I called Leslie from Adam’s study, and found it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Two bereaved sheep had died, which would be magical shock as much as physical condition, but the AED had been sent a tersely informative document about feeding ties and sheep abuse — Stefan, I suspected — and docs were cautiously optimistic about the rest. Not all were grateful to be ‘free’ and some bitterly resentful ; psychiatrists specialising in addiction and its behaviours were already involved.

“There’s gonna be a bunch of professional papers, Mercy, as and when.”

“Fine by me, Leslie, but tell the docs they need some happy, willing, and healthy sheep in there, as a baseline. Like nineteenth-century laudanum users who didn’t get septicaemia or anything cut with Clorox.”

“Right. The docs say some seem to have, ah, very reduced personalities, and mental deficits. They’re asking about dementia.”

“It’s a fair analogy, but the loss is from vamp over-feeding and letting a feeding tie get out of control. They suck minds as well as blood.”

“Un huh. Orcs was spot on. And sheep, little as I like it. In other news, vampire dust is, as you said, chemically gravemould, if with elevated salts.”

“Tell me.”

She gave me a look. “And much more agreeably, we were all blown away by ‘Scarlet Begonias’, and I’ve had calls from CIA analysts as well as our own. I’m stalling, because I wasn’t sure what was private any more.”

“Thanks, but go ahead, Leslie. It was straight up, but also a warning to Bonarata and a way of counting coup that matters to avatars and some others.” I thought about it, but the grateful dead were my business. “Served other purposes too, but the only relevant one is blowing some steam, because I am feeling the heat. Call it keeping my cool.”

“And you have a lot of cool to keep.”

Finishing on that agreeable note, I took my frustration to the basement for a session with Brent and introduced Jill to playing Scuffles-in-the-middle. We were all glad to burn energy and break some sweat, and I headed back upstairs to shower feeling a lot looser.

Lexington was a very different audience, and though I had no choice about the cloak I went for one of my more conservative outfits, a green mid-calf skirt with some beading, and a dark-red blouse that went with the gold chain. By the time I got downstairs Frank and Rachel had arrived, with Freed as well as Secret Service escorts, and so had Jill’s clothing, much to her pleasure. To be fair, the senior agent managed not to look too fazed at a colleague with the Incredible Hulk’s tailoring difficulties, and was, like Maretti, appreciative of the Freed’s senses and strength.

Despite the temptation to go on outsourcing lunch I’d defrosted home-made burgers, and aproned up to get oven and grill going. Frank and Rachel helped with salad trimmings, and by the time Warren and Kyle came in, very sharply dressed though Warren was still insisting on Western ties, I could serve decent bacon cheeseburgers with fries. Mindful of Mary’s advice I sent Irpa a message, before fielding questions Frank had about his lecture, and Rachel about leaving things around for earth fae to find.

“I get the pride and no obligation, Mercy, but doesn’t it conflict with their innate truthfulness?”

“You’d think, but fae can get very creative as well as literal with the truth. You abandon something you don’t want, they find something they do. Win-win. Your innate truthfulness is probably more conflicted.”

“True.” She laughed. “It just seems odd to dance round the obvious.”

“Maybe, but for fae not incurring obligation by accepting gifts is also obvious, as is using sincere fictions to sidestep problems.”

“Huh. Wise insanity and now sincere fiction.”

“Yup. Law deals in enough of it.”

“That I grant, but lawyers are, um, less compelled to speak only truth.”

Kyle grinned. “You bet. But the cherry-picking’s not so different. Mercy’s often says dealing with fae is like dealing with a hostile lawyer.”

“These days for me it’s more like a friendly one, Kyle, but yeah. Never speak carelessly with any fae. They won’t.”

Maya was interested, so it got kicked around before we turned to Lexington. Warren had some nerves, because with the demographic there making Adam’s and Rachel’s presences important, Kyle’s was too, but that wasn’t quite so Kentucky. No-one had any doubts about openness, I had Underhill’s and ap Lugh’s let for Kyle to pass through, and Alan Villiers had done some hard talking to his wolves, but there might be hostility, or distaste. Kyle was more worried for Warren than himself, and both had mixed feelings about revealed age as a patriotic protection.

Once Irpa tagged me back we didn’t dally, and she met us in the Garden of Manannán’s Death, looking quite Southern Belle, if they came with muscles and animated tattoos. She was much cheerier about doing dozens of back-to-back interviews than I’d have been, and had reached out to all sorts of demographics, from the Golden Gate History Society and California Academy of Sciences to the Sierra Club, Wikimedia Foundation, and universities. The mayor had been in cautious touch, though Irpa doubted he’d break party ranks any time soon, and so did I. I reclaimed Kyle from staring at statue and fountain and named him to Underhill, with my gladness for the let, receiving a chime before continuing on our way.

Alan Villiers had provided GPS co-ords and images, and we emerged backstage at the Rupp Arena within a Secret Service perimeter. New agents meant more introductions, but the AED and Maretti had briefed them, and with Alan and senior wolves waiting — pointedly including African Americans — it went smoothly enough. I was interested to meet Ros Stourbridge, Jeremiah’s wife of forty-some years, an elegant wolf in her 80s who had been Changed in her late 20s and was very happy his age was out, if dubious about having to spend time in DC. Monitors showed the Arena was jammed, and if the standing area was holding a younger, less formal demographic, backed chairs and bleacher seats showed older, well-dressed people. Despite having had to fudge his age Jeremiah knew a _lot_ of people professionally, in architecture, construction, landscaping, conservation, real estate, charitable work, and the horse world, and with his age revealed he’d been able to reach out to all ; so had his pack, which was more upscale and middle-class than most. Civic delegations and representatives from Frankfort were also present, with business leaders.

Jeremiah had known what he wanted, once prodded, and we all came out together, to applause that was more than polite. Alan made introductions, to frame Jeremiah and Ros, Adam and me, Frank and Rachel, and Warren and Kyle, and we took our places in a semi-circle of chairs bracketing a central mike. Jeremiah was on first, and after some formality with Alan swearing, as ap Lugh had if with less evident power, that he did not command the votes of his wolves, and would never command Jeremiah’s as a senator, made a very sharp pitch. Haight-Ashbury was one place, Lexington another, and he was asking them to abandon party loyalties that were often inherited and life-long — which he did not do lightly. The Clinton impeachment, hanging chads, and Birther conspiracy were revisited, not to grind axes but as prime examples of the system not working for different but related reasons ; green issues were another, and climate denial not an option when you’d seen enough weather to know it really was changing.

That brought in Warren, as brother wolf and co-witness to change, and the work Warren had done on the Columbia Restoration linked squarely to flood-control issues on the Cumberland and Tennessee. Taking only in-state donations was added, with proper balance of states’ rights and federal necessities, and things that needed to be bottom-up as well as top-down. SAGE came up, with Western and wolf attitudes to macho men who thought they needed maximally automated weapons, while their joint lack of birth certificates for unimpeachable reasons could parlay into a stinging slap at the incumbent’s record on the Birther nonsense, without ever naming him. I was watching the audience carefully, and whatever their doubts they appreciated it all much more than they didn’t.

Then state and local issues came into play, neither party showing well, before Jeremiah turned to the preternatural. Cantrip was a screaming warning of systemic failure, as dead Kentuckians, human, wolf, and half-fae, among their victims attested, and the Farouts were only a start to rectifying things, however promising. Irpa joined him to reiterate the absolute need for good faith, and canvass the continuing benefits of keeping it in good heart. The letter of the Accords was set, but the spirit in which they were to be lived was still growing, and though the President had risen to the challenge, Congress had done less well, many members seeming unable not to think in terms of weaselling round laws and out of promises. A preternatural presence would provide an honest corrective, as well as deep resources of knowledge and experience, and the breadth of the slate meant it was thinly spread.

Irpa was being very measured. “Preternatural representatives are not going to be in any kind of majority, and will have to persuade humans that something we’re arguing for is right and necessary. But we cannot be bribed, silenced, or intimidated by that human majority, whatever its party make-up turns out to be. And gender mix. Yes, there is a tilt towards a new balance, but after Cantrip there has to be, and we all know it. Are there risks and uncertainties? Of course — life is never without them, especially when there’s significant change. But the greater threat by far is sleepwalking to disaster, and everyone on Mercy’s slate, like those millions pledging votes, knows the main parties are _still_ asleep, despite Mercy and Medicine Wolf giving us a wake-up call the whole nation heard. Yes, I am different, and so is Jeremiah, but, bottom-line, if the nation is going to cope with wolves and trolls, Congress has to do so too, and it’s time they got on with it.”

That roused applause, and Frank was on, yesterday’s punchy brevity replaced by a longer, calmer pitch moving through Others 101 from junior to high school, and bringing in career opportunities. As the Farouts were accepting _very_ few former Cantrippers there had already been extensive federal hiring, but the interest of the FBI and others in tolerant, better-informed humans was new, and the crowd understood what Frank said about co-operation having many kinds of reward. He picked up not needing enemies, with striking analysis of Kentuckian history caught between polarities we could all do without, and his mix of painful gravity with wry humour went down well. Jeremiah engaged him about Magical Entente provisions for adults wanting knowledge, and segued into the simple truths that schools should teach children what they needed to know, about good things and bad, human and preternatural, ignorance rarely being bliss.

Taking a deep breath, Jeremiah opened the reverse-angle by reminding them it was not only human citizens facing radical change. Coming out as fae, wolf, or avatar was not simple, and preternatural cultures were changing too. With grave courtesy to Adam and me the diversity and innovation of the Columbia Basin Pack was summarised, with wolves’ bone-deep astonishment at my abilities to admit Joel and cast out Paul.

“By all I or any wolf knew it should not have been possible. Only a male Alpha can admit or cast out, period. But Mercy needed to do those things to save her pack and herself, and she is an Alpha coyote, so she made it possible, and delivered. Twice over. And we all saw her do the impossible again, repeatedly, taking down Cantrip and that vile travesty of a senator, gathering in the lethal Hanford pollution, and setting-up the Columbia Restoration and Cascadia evacuation projects. In 281 years I’ve seen a lot of leaders, and a good few Alphas, and I know the Bluegrass Pack is very lucky in Alan Villiers. I have come to appreciate the President in the last eighteen months, also. But they agree with me that Mercy is in a different league, and so does everyone on this stage. We also agree we are very lucky Jesse and Adam could persuade her to stand, because the tides of change are running hard and fast, they are not going to stop anytime soon, and there is no-one else who can dance us through them with such sure footing, skill, courage, and luck. Most presidential candidates run on promises to deliver. She’s running on a promise to continue delivering. And I’m as proud to be on her slate as I’ve ever been of anything, so I ask for your best Kentuckian welcome to the woman I know should be our next president — She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It.”

However I disliked the eulogy, I’d approved his punchline as soon as he suggested it, and the surprised uncertainty it created allowed me to reach the mike and start speaking before any applause could start.

“And we get to go on doing things differently, Kentucky, because I _am_ asking you all to drop yourselves in it, and me right along with you.” I smiled, easing tension. “Which ought to be a silly thing to do, but the true measure of the hole we’re in is that it really isn’t. I said yesterday in San Francisco the challenge represented by Irpa’s and Jeremiah’s candidacies was serious, however amusing by some lights, and meant it. It also drops you all in it anyway, as a bellwether everyone will watch, and I won’t apologise for that.”

I wasn’t sure how their attention _could_ sharpen, but it did.

“Our challenge is not partisan. The embarrassment we are causing both main parties is even-handed. Both are supported by sincere and honest people, but it is still true that both are failing us all, compromised too badly by the system they jointly constitute. There are lifelong supporters of both who hear me now, in this hall and elsewhere, and like Jeremiah I do not ask you to change allegiance in November lightly or unadvisedly. My deal with Washington and Oregon underscores that, because neither would have done it had they not believed it in the best interests of all their residents. Nor would the President. And nor would I.”

I let my voice become more conversational.

“All those candidates slinging mud at me Monday had plenty to say about why they think you shouldn’t take me seriously. Female — eek! Coyote — double eek! Outsider — double eek squared!” That got the laughter I wanted. “It was all very predictable, far more kneejerk than thought through. What I didn’t hear, though, was anything at all about why so many of you _are_ taking me seriously, despite knowing full well I am indeed a coyote-girl who has not previously held elected office. Despite knowing I would be the youngest person ever elected to the presidency, that I would not only be President Hauptman but also President She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, and that I will drop you, everyone, and myself, right in it, often, because it’s where we need to be.”

They were so quiet I didn’t need anything more than conversational.

“There are many ways of answering, of course, but I think they come down to two things I represent, innately and by conviction, and no other candidate does. The first I’ll call tolerance, but you could say co-operation or multiculturalism. We are in far too many ways a very divided nation. Kentucky surely knows that, placed as you are between North and South, East and Mid-West, but geography is only a frame for a way of thinking that bleeds into race and creed, laws and practices, education and culture. Are you pro or anti, left or right, black or white, gay or straight, male or female, us or them? And I’ve had enough of it.”

I mimed rolling up my sleeves, winning a murmur of laughter.

“This is just a way of thinking about it I find helpful, so please bear with me a minute. Different languages have different verbs for asking questions, and in Latin there were four, including _quaero_ , to question, and _interrogo_ , to interrogate. But strictly speaking an interrogative requires the answer yes or no. Do you have a vote? Did you do it? Those are interrogatives, because you do or don’t have a vote, did or didn’t do it. But there was another, _percontor_ , which allows any answer. A _contus_ was a wooden pole, and the idea is sounding water ahead of a boat, probing for obstacles. What are you going to do with your vote? _Why_ did you do it? Those are percontatives, a strange mouthful but an idea that matters, because the problem is that we’ve got hooked on interrogatives, making everything black-and-white, yes-or-no questions, when the plain truth is the world just isn’t like that. SAGE is an example — _do I believe in gun rights or want gun control?_ is a false dichotomy. I do believe in gun rights, and I do want gun control. The right to bear arms should not be a charter for allowing any nutcase who fancies going postal to buy battlefield weaponry, and there is no sane reason it should be.”

SAGE had not done as well in the South as elsewhere, so genuine applause was a relief.

“Thank you. I’m glad we agree about that, and SAGE will continue, whatever the election result. But going back to that habit of forcing everything into yes or no, us or them — I really don’t do that. I have two forms, and I could run on four legs before I could crawl, never mind walk on two. I grew up seeing werewolves and humans get along just fine. I discovered my Amerindian heritage without abandoning my Anglo half. I was employed by a fae who became a good friend. I am a mixed-race coyote-girl married to and mated with a werewolf businessman and Vietnam vet, my pack includes more than one kind, race, creed, and orientation, and we are stronger in our diversity because we tolerate individual differences so we can harness individual strengths for the safety and benefit of all.”

There was more applause, but I didn’t want it to turn into that kind of rally and held up a hand until it quieted.

“Those experiences, that identity, are why I could control my fear, walk towards Medicine Wolf in Sacajawea State Park, and help turn what could have become terrible enmity into fruitful alliance. And that’s the second thing I represent, after tolerance, which I’ll call practicality, or getting it done. It’s not just fools rushing in where angels fear to tread, though it can feel like it sometimes. What it really involves is what I call thinking sideways, or changing the rules, seeing what could be done _if_. A fifteen-foot dire wolf is very scary indeed, especially when it pops out of nowhere, but hang on, what could we do if it were on our side? Hey, what about Hanford and all those wretched dams? A federal agency that’s devolved into contract murder and massacre is also very scary, and far more loathsome, so what if I just put that out there on TV and let people know what they’re up to? Yeah, I thought they’d feel like that, Mr President, so it’s time to bring your hammer down. And huh, I’ve got wolves, Feds, and Elder Spirits in my house, Medicine Wolf in the garden, and the Man due tomorrow, so suppose a Gray Lord or two came by? We could all talk, and with some mutual goodwill we could actually Get It Done. And you know what? It worked, it’s still working, and I think you’re all very, very tired of people and institutions that don’t, and won’t, and can’t because all they can do is roll on down the same old track to nowhere.”

They let me know they were, but I still held it down as much as I could.

“Thank you again, but I’m nearly done. I’m saying a lot of people, a lot of you, are taking me seriously, despite every apparent disadvantage, because I represent tolerance and practicality, getting things done together. And the flip side is that when you look at the main parties — at the incumbents Jeremiah and Irpa are challenging — what you see is intolerance and impracticality. They don’t have any answers to offer, and as far as I can tell don’t _want_ change, just more of themselves. But I think you do, and I know almost everyone who’s younger than older does, passionately. My daughter Jesse tells me what she and other ex-kiddos want is hope their own kids won’t need a heat-suit to take a walk, and can go to school or the movies without worrying about being gunned down by legally armed fruitcakes who could be stopped. They want a world where magic and technology combine to make things possible without destroying the natural world we all live in. And they want a nation that really is the home of the free, not just a sorry collection of competing bigotries and special interests, and the land of the brave, not of head-in-the-sand business-as-usual. And as I want all those things too, and fear the status quo far more than change, I am asking you all to think hard and long about how you are going to vote in November’s many races. Talk to your children and grandchildren, kin and friends and their children.”

I drew myself up.

“Bottom line? Elections are in their nature about the future. What kind are we heading for? What kind do we want? And what are we going to do about getting the one we want, not the ones we really, really don’t? I stand for tolerance and practicality because together they add up to hope. Yes, I am different, as Jeremiah and Irpa are different, but we can also _make_ a difference, and if you trust us, we will. Thank you for listening.”

Although I’d added some punch to the last sentences I was trying hard not to tub-thump, like rabble-rousers and hectoring preachers, but to induce thought, and though Jeremiah had to wait out serious applause — and a little chanting of _Mercy’s slate_ from the standing-area — before he could wrap up with times and places he’d be available to meet and answer questions over coming weeks, there was a buzz of conversation rising. His pack were involved, and there would be an open day before a big local game when all would be present — an innovation Adam was wondering about, though more of our pack were out as wolves, and known in their own rights.

There was also a reception, and if Jeremiah was in his element, for me it was a challenge. Pressing flesh and schmoozing, wine-glass in hand, was not my thing, though the finger food was good, but Adam was a rock, in easy business mode, and it was interesting in its own way. I’d said all I wanted, but I realised it wasn’t words they were after so much as to confirm with their own eyes I was real. It sounds crazy, but they’d seen me on TV being improbable, and seeing the cloak in the petal, close-up and personal, or Manannán’s Bane, was a box to tick, so I went with the mundane. Children, shopping, and cooking were perennials, and I had an interesting chat with Ros Stourbridge and a couple who ran a southern-style diner. There was also a very corporate man who ran a VW dealership and was concerned about eco-attitudes to cars, but I agreed pressure on manufacturers to go green would be high on my agenda, with provision of hydrogen stations and domestic recharging capacity. He turned out to like working on his own engines, so we had a mechanics’ grump about awkward jobs VWs could throw up, and I was happy to promise that if I ever, as President, meet senior VW people, I would give them an earful.

Policy came into it, because people were willing to admit to relatives with prescription-drug problems, OxyContin or fentanyl, and the issues of Big Pharma malpractice and liability. There were doctors and health industry people present, so prescribing was in there, and while no-one had neat answers they had ideas I noted. The tensions were defused when Irpa was asked about that joint.

“Intoxication is hard for trolls to manage. At my weight it’d take pounds of grass, or a keg of Valhallan mead at speed. If you ever do come across a drunk troll, though, backpedal fast. It’s really not a pretty sight.”

“I’d think not.” An older doctor laughed. “Valhallan mead?”

“Yeah. Thor likes his mead, and so do I. But it takes twenty-three years to brew, so no-one else gets much these days, more’s the pity.”

Even I was curious. “Does it taste of its essence, Irpa, the way food and drink from divine realms are said to?”

“Pretty much, Mercy. Beyla had to create Valhallan flowers and bees to get the mead, and the bees are something else.”

From there we went to pesticides and ecology, but the preternatural titbit was a bonus for those who heard and another normalisation — magic mead, yay, but you still needed raw honey, and it took a bunch of work. I was glad to leave Jeremiah to go on talking himself up, but it hadn’t been too bad and seemed to have served its purpose. Alan thought so as he saw us out, and there was a look in the senior agent’s eye that made me pause.

“Something you wanted to say, Agent?”

“It’s not my place, Ms Hauptman.”

“As you will, but you’re welcome. I do things like this differently, too.”

“Huh. Maybe I’m just feeling more hopeful than I was, Ms Hauptman. Are Mr and Mrs Lafferty going straight back to their home?”

“They are, and Frank notified agents there. The rest of us are headed for Kennewick, and will emerge inside. Our agents are also aware.”

He was glad we were being sensible, and his hope a pleasing compliment, but in the Garden there were more, everyone thinking I’d hit the mark.

“I like that line about not doing attack ads.” Frank grinned. “But the main parties got labelled intolerant and impractical all the same. And hopeless. Nice one.”

“Glad you think so. But let’s get you home.”

In their hall Rachel thanked me for facilitating travel.

“I nearly said it back there in the Garden.”

I waggled a hand. “Human to human, wolf, or avatar is OK, Rachel, but better safe than sorry. Don’t _ever_ take Underhill or any fae for granted.”

“No.” She hesitated. “Is that experience, knowing that bone-deep as you seem to, part of how you can hold up so well? Andrea said you were used to being hunted. We’re still processing it, or trying to.”

“It’s not so much _being_ hunted as knowing something might. Being in the closet as an avatar for thirty-three years is up there too. But fretting won’t help me and will distract everyone else, so I try not to.”

“You succeed, Mercy, and are not showing what you have to be feeling. It’s very impressive. So is the way you judge audiences. You’d be a formidable lawyer.”

“God forbid, Rachel. It’s bad enough becoming a politician.”

We parted with laughter, but such regard from friends was more of a bother than from crowds. It made me feel like shuffling my feet, or my head, but once we were home residual discomfort was dispelled by Kyle.

“I might be staying local after all, Mercy, because Underhill gives me a serious dose of creeps. Commuting through there is right out. But I want one of those fountains. The statue’s something else, and you can label me impressed as all get out for surviving Manannán’s attack, because he was big and if that look in his eyes is accurate a total loon. But, sorry Mercy, Adam, heroic female nudes are so not my thing. And Fountains of Uphill Justice are just perfect.”

I gave a real laugh. “So are you, Kyle. Thank God someone else has those two the right way round.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

I couldn’t decide if I wanted a quiet evening, blessedly free of public speaking, or something to distract me from vengeful vamps, and went with the flow. Kyle was taking Warren to be seen at some trending pink restaurant, Adam had calls to make, and without a unicorn involved school had managed to continue through today, so Jesse was watching the recording with David’s crew. I set about dinner, deciding I’d earned a beer, and David, Jill, and Brent sat round the table with their own, surfing.

“It looks good again, Mercy. They’re chewing on your Amerindian name as a positive and agreeing strongly you offer tolerance and practicality that add up to hope. You did their analysis for them.”

“Gotta feed ’em things they get, Jill, as well as croggling them.”

“True. And you counted coup again, if only verbally. Frank was right.”

“Yeah, he was.” David raised his beer. “Excellent backhander, Mercy. And those Latin verbs are getting attention too. Only you could get the media thinking about grammar.”

Brent laughed. “Oh yeah. What’s the other verb, Mercy? You said there were four.”

“ _Sciscitor_ , to question repeatedly. Didn’t make it into English either.”

“Huh. So to ask is from German? Or whatsit, Anglo-Saxon?”

“Yup.” I peeled a potato. “Can’t remember the verb, but it meant to call on someone to do something. That’s why the obnoxious or stupid can be asking for it, but not questioning or interrogating for it.”

“Makes sense.” Brent considered his beer. “How do you know this stuff?”

“Prof at Wazzu used to say if you wanted to understand the answer, you had to know what sort of question you were asking. Made sense to me.”

“As it should, cleverly derogatory daughter.” Coyote sauntered in from the garden. “Can’t think sideways if you don’t know which way is up. But getting Latin verbs onto posters is tricky, even for me. I haven’t used it much for a while, Catholic priests not being at all my cup of wine. Your equation’s good, though, and I got permission from all those lawmakers.”

He had a flash drive, and once David fired up the laptop I found myself looking at what I had to admit was a very pleasing image of me, Coyote, and a lot of goggling faces, with WHAT SHE SAID!, then the official photo from the Medicine Wolf Accords, humans and preternaturals gathered round its great head, the slogan TOLERANCE + PRACTICALITY = HOPE. In one corner a cartoon Uncle Sam and Columbia wiped sweaty brows and said “Phew!”.

“Billboards and tees, I thought.” Coyote was trying to sound modest, without much luck. “Shame about the Latin, but mathematics is a first too. And you own the copyright in the photo.”

I gave him a daughterly kiss. “I’m not complaining. And having Columbia as well as Uncle Sam is a nice touch. The cartoons are public domain?”

“I did check. Lawsuits are boring.”

“True. So is peeling potatoes.”

To my surprise he actually did grab a peeler and join me, though I was entirely unsurprised when he gave me a look I recognised all too well.

“Spill, whatever it is.”

“Just an idea, but it might upset you. You’re getting quite complicated and unpredictable these days.”

“Surprise. Spill.”

“Alright. How would you feel about using an image of the statue with those black bars supplementing your fig-leaves?”

Whatever I’d been expecting it wasn’t that, and I peeled while I thought about it, with the fact that no-one else was saying anything, including Adam, who’d drifted back in. Black bars would preserve my modesty, such as it was — and it was — but also summon the broadcast image of me being raped and killing Tim, because KEPR had insisted on them. I also thought they looked really stupid. There was digital blurring, but if that was OK for faces I wasn’t sure it worked so well anywhere else. Adam would not like the allusion, but I could see the boomerang there could be. Tim wounded me badly, but I’d still taken him out, just as I’d beaten Manannán by changing — or reimposing — the rules on him. And it was more Iron Coyote, but that was covered, and I shook my head.

“The gain’s not worth the pain, Da, for me or Adam.”

He heard my lack of adjective, and sighed. “Alright, daughter. I sort of understand — your aunts would tan anyone who showed skin like that, though they approve of the statue. But you must do _something_ with it.”

“Why?”

“Why? Underhill — _Underhill_ — put up a statue of you whacking the fae version of Cantrip. That sort of thing impresses people, you know.”

“Yeah. But fae eyes are not human eyes. File under Celilo Falls.”

His eyebrows rose. “You can hardly be unphotographable as President.”

“I can damn well have clothes on.” A last potato joined its brethren in heating water. “I can also not be ice or in the act of killing. Would you use a picture of furry me muzzle-deep in dead rabbit?”

Jill said something in antique Salish I thought was about the boasting modesty Jim mentioned, and Coyote shrugged.

“I don’t disagree, Bear’s daughter, but it’s still a missed opportunity, and I don’t like those.”

Adam sent me a query I thought about, and shrugged acquiescence.

“Then make it an opportunity, Coyote. Mercy wants this one kept closer than not, and so do I, so that’s what we get. We’re pushing back at paparazzi, not feeding them, remember?”

“Are you causing trouble, Gramps?” Jesse bounced in, David’s crew trailing her with suddenly wary looks. “What about?”

“He wants to use an image of the statue with black bars. I said no.”

Jesse nodded. “Right. Not a good call, Gramps. Imagine _you’d_ been filmed being eaten by the River Devil, and I wanted to campaign for your Purple Heart.”

He stared. “There is so much wrong with that analogy, Graught.”

“And so much right. File under pesky if you have to, but give it up, please. Mom so doesn’t need any more hassle just now.”

“Coyotes _are_ hassle.”

But he’d heard Jesse, and subsided without much muttering, while she and David’s crew offered congratulations on my speech and admired the new poster. Jesse showed them the full set, and the blacked-out River Devil led to enquiries about the uncensored version, which Coyote had on his phone. I let them get on with it, running green beans through an old rotary slicer Adam had found somewhere, and my mind drifted as I set skillets heating, then made hot tomato relish and gravy. I was half-aware conversation had shifted to the next few days, Jesse and Adam filling people in on Sunday, when I realised I was hearing silence and turned.

“What?”

Travis set his beer down carefully. “Ms Hauptman, you are taking First People and African Americans from all over the Mississippi Basin to meet Medicine Wolf so it can tell its … friend about their experiences? And then taking those same people to be the first the friend reads?”

“Yeah. Problem?”

“No. The opposite. It’s just … Ol’ Manitou River. God above.” He laughed. “You had my vote already, but I’m really wishing just now I had another, so I could give you that one too.”

“You’re welcome, Travis. And David, does discipline really mean your guys can’t call me Mercy in my own kitchen?”

“Not any more. But I share Trav’s feeling, Mercy, and so will every brother and sister. I’m also thinking that if that’s happening, and Bonarata makes his jump right afterward, there will be some … false implications about his motives.”

“Maybe.” I thought about it as I got back to stirring. “Not for long though. I don’t know how it’ll play, because it’s Bonarata’s move, but one way or another the whole thing will blow wide and fast. Including Bonarata’s identity, whether he’s dismissed or in the Italian wind.”

“OK. Just don’t get yourself killed, please. And thank you. It’s again a privilege to be here.”

His guys agreed, and I told them they were welcome, enjoying the sizzle as steaks hit skillets and taking out the small change in vigorous potato-mashing. I liked doing right but was less keen on reverent gratitude for things I thought straightforward, however magical, and not sure how to cope with what seemed increasingly likely to be a lot of it. On the other paw, those kinds of emotions could fuel personal change, and that fuelled wider change out in the stubborn world. If the Columbia could be a skeleton or nerve system for Amerindian revival, what could the Mississippi be for First People and African Americans? Who knew what Ol’ Manitou River would be sufficiently interested in, but having more people than Faulkner thinking about the history those groups shared would be good, as would greater awareness the Mississippi Basin stretched from Colorado to New York as well as Minneapolis to Louisiana. Great manitous didn’t do tributaries, and this one encompassed a lot of American diversity — with repeated patterns that mostly boiled down to Anglos and money. On a third paw, Bob Marley had been happy to sing about Buffalo Soldiers, which spoke to many relevant things. And on a fourth, I had a table full of thoughtful African Americans, so with food dished I took the buffalo by the horns.

Despite the possible curly-hair explanation of the Amerindian designation for African-American troops, it had always been as admiring as derogatory, and adopted with pride. How might it be extended into, say, Buffalo Rangers, drawing heavily on First People and African Americans of the Mississippi Basin, as a division of the NPS charged with getting herds of bison safely back on the range? That would make for a north-south connector west of the Mississippi, and Coyote liked it. East of it was trickier, but the smaller lobe of the basin had some of the most polluted sites in the country between Chicago, Pittsburgh, and Cincinnati, all in need of tackling, and cleaning up everywhere was a manitou demand that had to be met. There could also be a festival of the Mississippi rotating through states, and Jesse liked that, but the other biggie was maximising commercial navigability, getting freight off roads and back on water, which might be slower but was way more efficient and had a fraction of the carbon footprint.

Adam was amused by the fizz of ideas, and David and his guys soon got into the pleasure of free thinking. Given what they did, they were very tight-knit and tended to military friends, but all had extended families that could be galvanised, and plans for Sunday took firmer shape. As there was a permanent media pack at our gates, having a large group of strangers bussed in was not on, and I hadn’t wanted to ask Leslie to go federal on this, so they were booked on a Yakama tourist trip that included lunch at a farm south of Toppenish, where Medicine Wolf would join them. I’d always been going by cloak to avoid being followed, taking Jesse and Adam, Jenna and Jude could make their way unobserved, and would bring Maya and her family, and with something less distinctive than Hummers to drive David and his guys could get themselves there — if they could get past the media.

“Take a boat across the Columbia, David. Two of the pack could meet you on Game Road, switch vehicles, and it’s just a hop onto I12.”

“We don’t have a boat, love. Nor does Corp.”

“And this can’t be fixed by Sunday? Those SEALs are still in town, Adam. Or plenty of Yakama have canoes with outboards. Longer run, I could ask Medicine Wolf for a tunnel under the river, but it’d need guarding and the media would twig eventually. Boats could go down to Attalia or up to the corner of South and East Finley, or anywhere in between. We ought to have one. Or two.”

“So we ought.” Adam grinned. “Fancy another boat ride, Corp?”

“On the Columbia, maybe, Sarge.” David gave me a look. “I knew Medicine Wolf was doing tunnels for I84. It does them as favours?”

“No, at need. The Freed earth fae are living on an island in the Yakima Delta, commuting by manitou tunnel.”

“Huh. I owe those SEALs a call anyway, Sarge.”

Adam checked his watch. “Me too. Let’s go see.”

Travis and Lincoln helped Jesse stack the dishwasher, kicking ideas around with others chipping in. It was restful to let them do the thinking, but there’s no peace for the wicked, and it wasn’t long before my phone started playing ‘Police and Thieves’.

“Hi, Tony.”

<Mercy.> He sounded tired. <After your shows yesterday and today I won’t ask if you’re OK, but I am touching base about Wednesday night. Fisher’s giving us nothing but has taken over reports we’ve had of houses abandoned, and says she has people in protective custody. Chief’s had an order from on high to sit on it, but he’s not happy and neither am I.>

I sighed. “I bet, but there is nothing I can do yet, Tony. I don’t think it’ll be much longer, meaning weeks not months, but it’s not my call.”

<And these people in protective custody?>

“Are being well looked after.” Except the ones who’d died. “KPD will have access as and when, but not now.”

<Right. Sure sounds like your call, Mercy.>

“Including you in the distribution when it happens is, but pushing the button isn’t, Tony. Straight up.” I made myself think. “It’s not a stretch to admit there’s a preternatural problem, but we’re not expecting anything further here, and the people the Feebs have got themselves into a bad magical mess which is being dealt with. You and Chief Rodgers have every reason to feel irritated, but don’t need to worry about the citizens of Kennewick.”

<A bad magical mess does not sound good.>

“And isn’t, Tony, but it’s their problem, not the KPD’s.”

He really wasn’t happy, and I emailed Leslie to suggest some federal soothing would not be amiss, and the AED to make sure the KPD were on the list of briefings to go out when I called Geronimo. Stonewalling Tony was uncomfortable, but as Adam said, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, and letting them in would raise the chances of a leak sharply. It might happen anyway, but the chance to stage the reveal wasn’t one I wanted to risk. I opened another beer, and went back to the discussion.

“You’re juggling a bunch of stuff, Mercy.”

“Tell me, Connor. I know I actually have a cloak and dagger, but I could do without having to stall the KPD.”

“Good one, punning daughter.” Coyote laughed. “When it breaks, you in the cloak with Carnwennan, saying _I do cloak and dagger, too._ ”

There was laughter and I rested my head on the table. It was easier.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

Saturday morning was again filled with calls. Surprise. Between times I wrote an email for pledged voters and surfed news, seeing the Italian villa had been joined by disruption of smuggling rings, seizure of drugs by the ton, and liberation of many more people being trafficked. Police forces across Europe were involved, but there was as yet no link between the stories, operations driven only by ‘information received’. I wondered what vamps not in Bonarata’s seethe were making of it, but that led to thinking about Stefan and I wasn’t going there. My speeches were attracting heavyweight analysis that agreed main parties were in trouble. The website numbers, still rising, had given me credibility, extending to my slate, but they wanted more names, and weren’t going to have to wait long.

Most of my calls were about putative candidates for various races. Jenny was supervising vetting, wolves and half-fae across the country doing legwork, and while there had been rejections the cleared list was long enough for a substantial release Monday. Vanna was good to go in Manhattan, and half-fae would run for governor in two Eastern states, with others trying for the House, but most were human and an interesting if motley bunch. Ranges of ethnicity and age were pleasing, and they were going for everything, federal, state, mayoral, and DAs. Ecology was a big part of it, but so were minority rights and the Paths of Assertion and Mercy. The Pacific North-West was well-covered, with a high proportion of First People, and dialogue with the Bible Belt about the preternatural was bearing fruit, faith candidates sufficiently driven by stewardship and Medicine Wolf as a godsent warning to accept my positions on other things. SAGE helped there, and though I was known to be pro-choice I’d been clear abortion was a last resort and never routine. I also had First People in Alaska and Hawaii, and if there were plenty of holes, especially in the deep South and upper Mid-West, next week should help fill those.

I dealt briefly with Coyote, who turned up with a new iMac to copy my music library, and fielded a call from Leslie, who’d been to see Chief Rodgers with some partly redacted medical reports on bereaved sheep, and done what reassuring she could. She wasn’t happy with having to stall either, but better pleased by rolling European news and the prospect of tomorrow. I threw Buffalo Rangers into the mix for her to chew on, and they came up again when the Man called on the secure line.

“You’ve had quite a week, Ms Hauptman. Wednesday night aside, it’s been a pleasure to watch, though not so much fun for you, I’d imagine.”

“The launches were good, sir, though I preferred in-and-out at Bison Paddock to schmoozing at the Rupp Arena. But yeah, the waiting not so much. Needs must.”

“Tell me. And you bet the launches were good. I’m still smiling about ‘Scarlet Begonias’. The European stuff is a doozy as well, and the CIA is very happy with you, but have already had to lean on the Italians. Ambassadorial briefings have induced worried phone calls from all over, and though leaders I’ve spoken to are up for waiting while we deliver cases of wooden slugs, and listening hard to wolves the Marrok has asked to be forthcoming, I can also hear stakes being sharpened. I’ve told them we expect significant developments sooner than later, which may make things easier for them, and if they jog our elbow meantime we will be very unhappy. They heard, but they’re also working out that the political calculus when this breaks will make it impossible to refuse assistance with vamps, to NATO allies, at least, and that there are all sorts of interesting possibilities in helping the Russians, Chinese, and Indians. And then there are domestic notifications. I am not happy telling foreign leaders without telling governors, nor will they be when they find out. I _think_ I can keep it down until Friday, but if it goes beyond that …”

“I hear you, sir. And I have no problem calling Geronimo anytime we have to. It’s just …” I waggled hands. “The shape of it. Who knows what’ll happen when it blows, but charges can be seriously directional.”

He looked at me curiously. “Good luck with that, Ms Hauptman. Do you know what shape you want?”

“Want, yes, but it’s all contingent on what goes down. If Bonarata’s dust it’ll be easier.” I thought some more. “It’s complicated. There are human events, vamp events, manitou events, and I don’t want Mississippi Basin governors hit with vamps before Friday because it’ll leak.”

“That I get, and I’ll try.”

“Thank you. It’s also about magic and mine being not so predictable. I need to give it potentials to work with, and that means bringing things together. I’m using the debate as a focus.” David’s worries came back to me. “And if I’m dead _you’ll_ need to call Geronimo, sir, fast, because coming after Ol’ Manitou River it’ll be taken as a racist political hit.”

We talked about that, which was not enjoyable, until he segued to cleaning up the Mississippi, which we’d already talked about a little and was the real reason he’d called, so I added Buffalo Rangers and an autonomous agency to our agenda.

“A federal authority covering only thirty-two states?”

“Only parts of a dozen or so, but yeah, covering the whole river system. Pollution, flood control, and river freight.” I laid out the dynamics of minimising the first and maximising the last for the same win-win gains the Columbia Restoration was generating. “Something has to co-ordinate and absorb existing Watershed initiatives. Levees, riparian buffer zones, greener transport, the lot.”

“Huh. A Department of the Mississippi Basin, then, not an agency. Excluding 18 states from a federal authority is a big problem, plus Cabinet Secretaries have more clout than directors, and it’ll need some of that. The fight will be pesticides and fertiliser.”

I hadn’t thought of creating new departments of federal government, and wondered where you put one, but the argument made sense and the Man knew he’d need to offer Ol’ Manitou River something concrete, so that would be his headache. He was right about Big Corn, though, and that was high on Sawyer’s agenda.

“Un huh. I don’t know what’s possible, sir, but flood plains are rich land, and I’m hoping Ol’ Manitou River can control silt as well as water. Natural fertiliser. But systemic pesticides and nitrates have to go, whatever Iowa wants. And that renewable fuels plan based on corn ethanol — they really didn’t think that one through.”

“They usually don’t, Ms Hauptman. But I like your thinking, and can have something half-way coherent for next Saturday, assuming it’s all worked out and I can go to St Louis as planned. Will you still be there?”

“I sincerely hope not. I’m supposed to be doing my own launch, with one for the slate, here, and all sorts of people are due, including the Dead.”

“They are? Huh. Are you inviting Oregon and Washington?”

“Yup. Washington’s coming to Warren’s launch this afternoon, and they’re both due next week.”

“So maybe I’ll go on West from St Louis, if timing allows. I owe them some return solidarity.”

“And you’d catch the gig.”

“I would.” He grinned, but glanced aside. “Incoming. Take care, Ms Hauptman.”

With that done I got in some therapeutic baking, making a fruitcake for Mrs Andrews and listening to Jill tell Brent and Lincoln about beadwork, and the explosive effect of glass when the Spanish and Anglos introduced it. The craft had existed for centuries, but First People are suckers for bright colours, and bone or shell beading was a lot more labour intensive. She also had a portrait jacket by Marcus Amerman that had cost an arm and a leg but she thought well worth it, and having seen some of his work I’d bet it was.

I was taking care of meat pasties for lunch when the weekly Yoke’s restock came, so there was bustle putting stuff in fridge and freezers. Tom was there to tote bags, and cheerfully told me he was applying to Wazzu for the fall, and thought the road-safety segment on _Living Free and Moonbound_ had been great. He’d really dug Purity, and as he’d turn eighteen soon was looking forward to voting for me and Warren. As always he left me with a sense of mild bemusement at his thought processes, but feeling cheered, and my pasty sustained that.

KEPR’s coverage of Sacajawea State Park had started, the crowd was large and still swelling, First People in heavy evidence, and with a local jugband Kyle knew starting to play the atmosphere felt more festival than rally, a lot of goodwill on show. The talking heads were all over the place, but when Caroline began interviews I was better pleased. Yes, there was me and all the excitements of the week, but also Warren, and the 1776 thing made them proud he was one of theirs, by long residence if not birth. And yes again, they were proud of me, and of living where the Medicine Wolf Accords had been negotiated, but as pack Warren was a part of that anyway, as of their feelings about Hanford and the Columbia Restoration. The bio on his website had been widely read, with a lot of sympathy as well as goggling interest, and Caroline got good soundbites from First People who knew about less familiar Amerindian names.

She also did a segment on security. Secret Service and SEALs had people on the reserved area, and Ramona with the Freed (and Penny’s team) were adding scenting to pat-down searches on general entry. The visitor carpark was reserved for campaign staff, Pasco PD had barriers along the spur to Lake Wallula, and were managing parking on scrubland by the access road, so everyone had to enter on foot. Checks made for delays, but there were many channels and people were cool, sharply aware of those Wednesday shots, and pleased to meet Freed, however briefly.

Adam had wanted me to go by cloak, but when I drew the line — the cloak was not for local travel — he’d conceded Hummers, with rings of security. He would take wolves in the Cherokee, with Jill, Brent, and more wolves in another SUV, and the Secret Service could bracket us. The KPD were providing outriders, so it was quite the convoy that parted the media pack. Mostly all the hoopla was a pain, but as we swept up Chemical Drive and over Ed Hendler Bridge I decided I could get used to having road-clearing rights of way. We had to slow beyond East Ainsworth, but Pasco PD were keeping the westbound lane open for us, and when we dropped speed to pass walkers there were waves and smiles. Outriders led us onto the Wallula spur, circling to the service road for the Visitor Centre, along the Snake’s northern bank and directly into the secured area. Connor, driving me, approved, and so did Lincoln and Travis.

“The Sarge does good work, Mercy.”

I was amused Adam remained the Sarge when they’d agreed to use my name. Debarking was a lot easier without a crowd to hold back, we were greeted by Maretti, and I took a moment to offer him and the senior agent of the squad who’d accompanied us thanks before we ran through the pattern-shift now David had full trios on Jesse and me, as well as Jill and Brent. Maretti appreciated David’s military efficiency and greatly respected his record, and if I was still weirded-out to have dozens of people taking me as their primary it felt good.

Kyle and Warren were already there with Andrea, talking to a bemused Washington, and their special guest. It was another pleasure to see him again, and his open glee at main parties’ discomfiture was a kick. He was also happy when Irpa arrived with Jeremiah and Ros, as well as Frank and Rachel — she’d offered to chauffeur — and more so when Medicine Wolf came padding down the Snake, said hello, and went to sit on the slope above the stage. The crowd cheered, the jug band went into a decent ‘Dire Wolf’, and things were starting to cook nicely when Coyote turned up with, to my surprise, not only Gordon but Raven, Wolf, and a female Bear who grinned at Jill. I did introductions, and raised an eyebrow at Coyote.

“Any particular reason for the show of strength?”

“Nah. They’re just jealous I’m having all the fun.”

Gordon waved a hand. “Jealous is not the word. Try relieved. Raven’s children and mine are adding wider surveillance, Mercy, but we’re here for you and Warren Smith. Your coups this week were very fine, and for an Anglo he will be a good deputy for the work you’ve been doing with the tribes. Raven has a feather for him.”

I was touched but suspicious, and so was Jill, eyeing her mother.

“Checking up on me?”

“Happy coincidence, daughter.”

“Un huh. That’s a dancing dress.”

A light-bulb went on. “A follow-up to the unexpected bit of Thursday?”

Wolf gave me a smile. “You did that on very few clues, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars.” His eyes flicked sideways. “There are limits to what we can say here, but what happened was very helpful and today offers a second bite of the cherry.”

I nodded, head whirling as thoughts lined up. With so many human eyes and ears around a brisk distraction was in order, and working out what exactly everyone was doing did the job. The result, after some exclaiming and amusement, and a note to the band, was that when their next song ended the singer asked for everyone’s attention, and got it.

“Thanks for listening, Tri-Cities. This is the biggest gig we’ve ever done, by a country mile, and we’re proud to be here. But around Mercy Hauptman little miracles happen, so we now get to accompany a living legend, and he’s got something for us all.”

He stepped back from the mike, and backstage the Boss gave Warren his charming, crooked grin, hit the first, achingly familiar chords on his acoustic guitar, and walked onstage already singing. He’d rewritten the whole thing, via the snarling acoustic version of the Tom Joad tour, and it wasn’t _I was born in the USA_ but _He was born with the USA_ , and you could have called it the Ballad of Warren Smith, from farming in what would become Missouri to losing family, drifting west, reluctantly fighting the red man before making peace, taking harm and keeping on, alienated by a life and desires others didn’t understand, to find a home at last. The jug band were high on the thrill but keeping to the slower acoustic tempo the Boss set, and the crowd’s deep silence held as Elder Spirits walked on in animal-headed forms. Their dance was Amerindian, shuffling and leaping, but they made it fit, adding a drone beneath the chorus each time it came round, with rising intensity. I could feel spirit magic swirling, much more powerfully than in SF, and my magic reached out through the cloak. Medicine Wolf was doing something too, power infusing sounds from earth that had absorbed the dead’s bodies, air that housed their ghosts, but I couldn’t see how it would work until the ballad reached its bleak nadir, the Boss’s rough voice swelling with the passion the ghost of Tom Joad knew.

_Under the shadow of every human’s fears_

_Knowing how many dead pile up down the years_

_He’s two centuries in, riding the endless road,_

_Nowhere to stay, with his ghosts and his load_

How Elder Spirits had known about it was a good question that could wait, but this time the drone was a commanding summons, and the dead keened above it, making my nerves vibrate with sorrowing and vengeful anguish, a sheer weight of pain and rage. But it _was_ cathartic, a cleansing release, and as the ballad bounced back into the resolution the original never had I felt something dissolve away, a long sigh on the very edge of my hearing.

_But our world’s done changed, and widened out_

_We found the Path of Mercy, and we saw the light_

_He’s still fighting for our freedoms, and his own_

_Right here in the place we all call home_

In the outro Warren was a _long time_ and _cool running werewolf in the USA_ , and when he went onstage, the rest of us save Jesse and her detail following, the last slow chord was overwhelmed by a cheer so loud it hurt.

A glance up showed me Medicine Wolf’s satisfaction, eyes bright with power, and another around that while they still had business to do, and were sucking it up, letting Elder Spirits get on their way sooner than later was in order. I don’t think that was what Warren had in mind, and hearing the song had left him flushed, but his natural courtesy and dignity as he gave the Boss, Elder Spirits, and band bows of acknowledgement and thanks quieted the crowd, and he stepped up to the mike.

“I don’t rightly know what to say about that, except thank you, but I do know that for all the joy and sorrow there are some formalities we need to complete before we get down to business.”

Adam had strong emotions I could feel, swirling but positive, and I gave his hand a squeeze. We didn’t swear jointly not to command Warren’s senatorial vote as co-Alphas — let wolves absorb the fact before tweaking their tails — but my pack authority was public domain, so I swore too. As soon as we were done Coyote reverted to human form and buckskins to say that Warren Smith would be speaking for me in local Yakama and other First People business and Elder Spirits recognised my delegation of their authority. Raven set a black feather in Warren’s hair, above one ear, and as he stood back Coyote leaned in, speaking Salish.

_Yeah, I know he’s Anglo, but he is a werewolf in his third century, and really knows our history. You also need to talk to our children about what they just heard._

Deep nods of respect from First People in the crowd encompassed Warren as well as Coyote and the others, and with one more round of thanks and farewells Wolf and Bear returned backstage while Raven and Thunderbird went feathered and took off, spiralling up to vanish against the sun. Coyote stayed, grinning beside the Boss.

It wasn’t the easiest act to follow, but Warren was good, opening up a little on the history in the ballad, but soon winding to finding a home and life in Kennewick, and current issues. Preternatural ones brought in Irpa, and Jeremiah offered a line about interstate co-operation that brought the Governor into play. You wouldn’t think Washington and Kentucky had much in common but you’d be wrong, starting with horses, mountains, farming, and liquor — as much wine is bottled in Washington as bourbon in Kentucky — while ideas about regional school exchanges for Others 101 had Frank bouncing in. By the end it was as much colloquy as speech, a demonstration of co-operation, being tolerant and practical because it worked. When Warren wound up eulogising me and repeated Jeremiah’s punchline from yesterday, in Salish, the double-take was minimal and cheering prolonged. I waited it out and went conversational.

“I seem to have given a lot of speeches this week, so I’ll keep this one short.” I jerked my thumb. “What they said.” I waited out laughter. “I don’t have much to add, because I’ll be back here next Saturday on my own account, and however I’m taking point this really is about co-operation and plurality. Those on my slate — and more names will be out Monday — are very different beings, with different concerns, but all committed to the core policies, and sideways thinking. Warren’s a cool running werewolf, not a coyote, but he knows about sideways from very long experience, just as he knows about the tolerance we want and the intolerance we too often get. So do Irpa and Jeremiah, and as people come on board we’ll be doing lessons in Sideways 101. So will Coyote, and just wait until the billboard campaign gets going, because you have treats in store.” I slipped into Salish. “ _Some of which you’ll have to translate for Anglos. Be gentle, hey?_ ”

There was laughter as well as Anglo curiosity.

“What else needs saying? Only two things. One is big thanks, first to the Boss, for bringing his own very potent magic along to honour Warren’s life and offer of service, and endorse a better vision of what it might mean to be born in the USA than he could report in the 1980s.” I turned. “Thank you, sir, for the hope.”

The crowd agreed lengthily, and I let it run until the Boss used his own slider control, grinning as they hushed.

“And second to the Governor, because one thing we haven’t seen much of outside the White House is political courage and integrity, but he’s showing both, and how. A lot of main-party people are _not_ happy with him, but you all should be, because the reason he and Oregon are onboard is they put the welfare of citizens first, hear what I’ve been saying and agree, and don’t like what they hear from other candidates and National Committees. He’s on the slate too, and come November he’ll have my vote.”

The applause wasn’t as warm, but he was already well-up in state polls and it was genuine.

“Point two is simple, because so will Warren. Adam and I have been relying on him for a long time, because we know we can, and that he’ll deal righteously and fairly with whatever he has to. Not many wolves have such long experience both of being loners and the joy of being pack, but he does, and more besides, so you know he’s as rounded as they come. Quite a few of us know what it means to come out, and he’s done it as wolf, as gay, and as bicentenarian, so you know he’s as tough as they come, too. And those add up to being seriously flexible, able to cope with change, to live with and learn from it and make it good change, which is exactly what we need right now. He’s got solid preternatural support, pink support, and green support, already a whack of a coalition, and with the blessing of Elder Spirits, solid support from First People in this state. Which means Warren Smith is going to be an outstanding state senator for all of us.”

Listening to applause gets tiresome fast, despite the kick, but a second song, the Boss happily telling them _Baby, he was born to run_ and the jug band playing out of their skins, allowed us to get offstage. There was no sign of Wolf, but Bear was talking to Jill, attracting Coyote’s attention, and Andrea bouncing with excitement as she hugged Frank. Jeremiah and Ros needed to get back to Lexington, and Irpa had stuff scheduled too, so she took them, leaving Frank and Rachel who were again staying overnight. Washington caught my eye with a wry smile.

“Doing it differently is right, Ms Hauptman, but it is by God working. That singing made my hair stand up.”

“I’m not surprised, sir. There was spirit magic involved.”

He blinked. “Doing what?”

I shrugged, aware of Bear and Coyote listening. “Soothing First People’s accumulated dead covers it, sir. A lot of tribal history might weigh against voting for any Anglo, and while Raven’s feather is a potent token for the living they weren’t the only ones involved.”

He stared. “For real? Silly question with you, but … singing ghosts?”

“And dancing. But you don’t see or hear them, so they won’t bother you. Avatars don’t get that option.”

“Huh. And they’re now … good with it?”

“Better with it, anyway. What happened will help avatars. Call it a bit more WD-40 somewhere else.”

“You call everything WD-40, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars.” Bear sounded amused. “But you’re not wrong, and between Medicine Wolf and that cloak of yours the spirits got some real traction. It was a good day’s work.”

So it was, but I wasn’t giving Washington more, however curious he was. He had things to do and people to see, and as soon as the Boss came offstage made farewells and departed with his security. Medicine Wolf came padding down from the mound to tell the Boss it liked the song, asking about the tensions between original and rewrite, and the good day’s work got better when it, Bear, and the Boss, not flying back east until morning, accepted invitations to Kennewick for a proper conversation.

It was balmy enough to sit out, and with Medicine Wolf there Adam didn’t mind me doing so. Earth fae joined us, pleasing everyone with gentle courtesy, and I stirred myself to steam vegetables while Benny’s took care of human food. With hunger satisfied I relaxed beside Adam, who was holding Jesse, happy to be listening rather than speaking. With the Boss there was always the celebrity kick, and what he’d done was really interesting to more than Medicine Wolf, but if part of me was watching Jill’s and Bear’s obvious affection and wondering how Coyote and I seemed to others, what mattered was Adam and David. They’d done better than the nameless vet of the original _Born in the USA_ , but knew all about that, down to the bone. They also understood better than most what Warren’s experiences meant, and didn’t begrudge the recasting of a song that had spoken to them in dark times. But somewhere between that and spirit magic that allowed the dead to release rage and depart, more cathecting had gone on. Neither was given to reminiscence, but softly spoke their senses of release into truth. As with Medicine Wolf’s glass, their worst memories seemed more distant, opaque, not forgotten but emptied of jagged affect by rewriting despair as hope. Music was magical anyway, and there had been a lot of both to amplify one another, but I knew my cloak and Manannán’s Bane had gone beyond. Presuming to drain that kind of trauma would have been appalling arrogance, and I hadn’t, but I’d known I brought Adam healing and desired with all my heart to bring more. And Sarge and Corp went together.

It was mellow, and moving, for David’s crew as well as Jesse and me, and the Boss, who knew he’d been part of something special. I had an arm round Adam and was feeling sentimental when Coyote sat beside us.

“Is any more spirit magic planned?”

“Not like that. You opened the door last time, and we all hit gold this time.” He looked reflective. “I’m not sure how you did it, mind, and neither are the others.”

“Join the club.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

Sunday meant pack breakfast, but the media mob outside had grown a lot overnight, and was back to unruly. What had set them off I wasn’t sure, and from a scan of various networks neither were they, but there hadn’t been further European developments, nothing distracting had happened, Elder Spirits and the Boss rewriting a classic were top of the news cycle, and they wanted me to feed them more even though they’d barely begun to digest what they had. Any which way they were a menace, and with yet more being restive outside St Paul’s the KPD were stretched. More than one of the pack cried off breakfast, saying tailbacks were affecting East Riek Road, and those who did make it used South Finley and came up Meals Road, a _long_ way round. Something had to be done, and after discussions with Secret Service guys and KPD got nowhere, thanks to freedom of the press, I made a decision, because if law couldn’t cut it magic could, and Adam did not need new rage. It would be full moon Monday, and its tug was adding enough twitch that blowing steam would be worthwhile anyway.

It meant a call to Leslie, who didn’t hesitate, and another to Bran, who did, but bowed to necessity. The first thing was to clear South Piert so we could get out, and though the Secret Service were even less keen than Bran the KPD kicked it to Rodgers, who heaved a sigh of relief and agreed.

The SEALs had agreed to provide a boat ride for David later, but at Leslie’s request arrived by water sooner, reinforcing KPD uniforms on the gate. As soon as they had, Adam and all pack present except me and Joel headed down. The mob heaved, held back by the SEALs but frantic with flashes, until Adam took a megaphone from a KPD sergeant, raised it, and gave an Alpha roar that slammed them silent before the overloaded megaphone died in a shower of sparks. The TV picture wobbled, and I grinned as it steadied on Adam giving the dead megaphone a quizzical look before handing it back.

“Sorry about that. I’ll get the KPD a new one.” He turned to the stunned mob. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of an angry Alpha. I warned you I would not tolerate rank incivility at my gates, and while you are entitled to be here, you are _not_ entitled to park on our land or our neighbours’, nor block access and jam traffic on the interstate, all of which you are doing. Given the public order problem you collectively represent, Chief Rodgers has deputised me and all pack, and media vehicles will move down South Piert and Meals Roads to the scrubland south of my land. Anyone who refuses will be arrested by uniformed officers and charged with everything the KPD can think of, while vehicles will be impounded, meaning for now that wolves will open them however forcefully they have to and move them, and for tomorrow that the KPD will institute aggressive forfeiture proceedings. So to start, whoever is driving that CNN van get driving, _now_ , and next time drop your crew and head on down, or it’ll be immediate arrest and forfeiture of the vehicle.”

There was a hiatus as CNN tried to explain their driver was on a break somewhere, and they didn’t have keys. The KPD sergeant shrugged, ruled that, being illegally parked, the van was subject to seizure, and Adam simply grasped the door-handle and pulled. The same wolf strength — and some dubious knowledge, but he’d seen a lot — silenced the alarm and hotwired the van in about seven seconds, and Honey swung up to move it along. Fox and everyone else decided discretion was the better part of valour, following without demur, and the only holdouts were other missing drivers. Quite where they’d got themselves to in our corner of Kennewick, which was not café or diner country, was a mystery, but locks were popped and vehicles moved, drone footage showing vehicles queueing on East Riek getting word and beginning to move on. Jams eased as flow on 397 was restored, and on local stations a note of approval joined wittering about press privilege and intermittent whining about wolf over-reactions.

Jesse had intended to come to church, but thought better of it and agreed to stay with Jill, who didn’t care for any Christian service, so my temper kicked up and the convoy was reordered. Adam would drive me and Brent, wolves and Secret Service bracketing us, while Hummers took point and tail, with KPD outriders. The KPD had control outside the church, while Freed would guard doors. As we passed the gate David used his tannoy to inform everyone we were coming through at 5 mph as far as East Riek, and toes were their owner’s responsibility. There was still a barrage of flashes and pointlessly shouted questions, but as reporters realised they had no way of following until they got back to their vehicles, half-a-mile south, rear-view mirrors pleasingly filled with people hurrying along in shoes not designed for doing so.

I was genuinely cross with the way media were behaving, and what was happening at the church made it worse. West 10th was blocked, even sirens didn’t open our way until David in the lead Hummer made it clear he wasn’t stopping, and Adam had to squint against the barrage of flashes. By the time we made it into the cordoned parking lot I was in a severe version of what Brits call high dudgeon and Jesse calls getting a mad on. My eyes had gone golden, the cloak and Manannán’s Bane picked up on my mood, and my magic was fizzing as Adam and I stalked across the carpark with Brent and four of David’s crew behind us, Secret Service flanking them. Flashes went into overdrive amid a cacophony of shouting that might have been tribal bellowing for all I could pick out. The KPD presence was bending under pressure, those at the front being squeezed, so Adam and I didn’t delay joining hands, bringing up dominance, and shouting together.

“BE SILENT AND STILL.”

Abruptly the only sound was ragged breathing, and Adam continued.

“Those at the rear, take twenty paces backwards, _now_. And everyone else, as pressure eases behind you. Move backwards. People at the front are in danger.” Slowly they shuffled back, and when it was enough Adam curled his lip. “Idiots. Mercy?”

“Idiots is right, and this stops now. Our daughter Jesse did not feel able to come today and your nonsense will have prevented other congregants attending, which is intolerable. So is the fact it took a unit of SEALs, a wolfpack, a Secret Service detail, and scores of KPD officers for us to get here. Being accredited media does _not_ exempt you from law or simple courtesy, so there are two things you need to hear, and more you need to do.”

I held up a finger.

“First thing to hear. Adam has already warned you bad behaviour will mean exclusion from official press conferences, and everyone here, like everyone who was obstructing highways outside our property, is now on notice. We have pictures, we will identify you, and if anyone already identified re-offends you will be excluded. Not your stations, you. No access here, nor to any slate campaign or preternatural event, and if I win no access to the White House for the duration. _Nada._ Read my lips and see my eyes.”

A second finger joined the first.

“Second thing to hear. This is _not_ doing your jobs, it’s being lazy and stupid as well as over-the-borderline criminal. There is plenty of time before November, I have interviews scheduled from next week, the intranets Jesse’s doing will kick in, and I am not going to make off-the-cuff statements about anything major. You are hanging around me in case something photogenic or soundbitey happens, and in one sense fair enough, but it means you are not doing anything else, and you ought to be. I haven’t had a chance to read today’s papers, because we’ve been dealing with you being idiots, but from all I have seen none of you have yet done anything much about my campaign headquarters, volunteers, the FEC auditing donations, or emails from those abandoning the NRA. Op-ed writers have been doing their jobs, but you lot, the boots on the ground, are just hoping a magical show falls into your laps, or you can goad me into sufficient rage I have to do something about you. And now you’ve succeeded, by coming between our daughter and church and putting your own behaviour right at the top of the news cycle. Do you still think that’s such a wise strategy? And it’s not just failing your audiences by failing to cover my campaign properly, it’s failing them by ignoring everything I’m reacting to. Coverage of that weird villa the Italian police found has been crimped, with the good news about smuggling rings, and follow-up on the re-emergent land bill, Celilo Falls, voter registration, and a bunch of things. So —”

I spread fingers, folding them down one by one.

“Five of many things you all need to do. One, stop being idiots and start being sensible. Two, get some ethics and civility. Three, get a pool system for loitering at our house, or anywhere in the Tri-Cities barring scheduled public events. We will allow one TV, one radio, and one newspaper pool person. Any more will be moved on, as legally and forcibly as necessary. Four, with your cleared schedules, start doing your jobs properly. I said yesterday this is about a lot more than me, and it’s high time you noticed. And five, media editors and bosses, _get a grip._ Talk to your boots on the ground and among yourselves. Put weight and authority behind good behaviour, and come down hard on bad. This shambles is not only down to individuals present, and if they have to be held accountable, so do you.”

I dropped my hand.

“Adam’s was the last polite warning, and this is the last warning, period. Today we only used magic to get your attention but we have been deputised by Chief Rodgers, and it is a KPD promise that if we are ever again forced magically to freeze a media mob on security grounds, there _will_ be mass arrests and maximal prosecution, forfeiture of equipment, and individual naming and shaming, on top of all that blacklisting.” My eyes were still golden but I added a razor smile. “Now, I have to be even-handed, so” — I pointed with Manannán’s Bane — “for now, you, Rude Fox-guy, are TV pool, you, KFLD-AM-gal, are radio, and you, _Tri-Cities Herald_ -guy are print. Everyone else, _go away, now_. Clear the street, digest your shame, and mend your ways.”

Adam and I swung away into a silence broken only by grateful thanks from a sweating KPD sergeant we paused to acknowledge, and a muttered _Fuck me_ from a Secret Service guy that drew a glance from Adam but was otherwise ignored. At the church-door David’s men split to take their usual positions, Secret Service with them, Freed who had been on the door joined us, and I found myself in a church a lot emptier than it should have been. Ramona said she’d had to park up on West 7th, and jog round the mob on South Sharron and West 12th.

“Shook out some moon itch, as did hearing you lay into them, Mercy. And your eyes are really pretty as well as really scary when they do that.”

Gold was fading, and I felt mischievous enough to bat eyelashes.

“It’s really not a come-hither look, Ramona. More a get-thither one.”

She laughed, and so did Adam.

“Oh yeah. They’re still pretty, though. More like Medicine Wolf’s colour than werewolf yellow.”

She was exaggerating but the thought pleased, and with a sense of calm returning I apologised to congregants present — mostly those who came on foot or bike. They’d been genuinely disturbed, as well they might be, but also watching us, directly or on phones, and were pleased we’d acted and impressed by results. So was Reverend Jenkins when she came to announce a postponement. She’d been talking to folk calling to say they couldn’t get in.

“As Mr and Ms Hauptman have taken care of business, those who live closer are coming after all, so I said we’d wait. I hope that’s alright.”

It was, though it meant the time was filled with what all I’d been about during the week, until stragglers began to arrive and it turned to what all I’d been about in the last half-hour. There was a lot of tut-tutting about professional standards among strong approval, and when the Wrights arrived, with a strapping grandson visiting for the weekend, an excited introduction. Jed Wright was a lumberjack, and looked it, but if he coped with Adam both Ramona and I seemed to make him extremely bashful. Mrs Wright’s eyes twinkled.

“He’s always had a thing about strong women, dear.”

Adam grinned. “Me too, Mrs Wright. I dare say he comes by it honestly.”

“You’re a flatterer, Mr Hauptman.” She was delighted and Mr Wright grinned. “You’re both alright after what happened on Wednesday?”

“We’re fine, Mrs Wright.” It wasn’t untrue, whatever it left out. “But thanks for asking.”

They went to their usual pew, Jed squeezed in, and eventually the service began. For the sermon, Reverend Jenkins ruefully said she had intended to discuss church support for SAGE, having had interesting conversations with Spokane, but would save it for a full house next week, and instead follow my lead and try that dangerous thing, an extempore sermon. When murmurs faded she gave me a look.

“My apologies, Ms Hauptman, but what you said to those _loutish_ media people was, among other things, a sermon, and a very good one — a moral analysis that offers rich food for thought. It was also a stinging rebuke, of course, and I’ll confess to enjoying that aspect more than I should, if only because the noise really has been very annoying. But feeling Old Testamentary puts me in mind of a verse I often wonder about. Isaiah 41:15. I like the RSV translation best — “Behold, I will make you into a new threshing sledge with sharp teeth ; you shall thresh the mountains and beat them small, and make the hills like chaff.” Well, that’s quite a thing to say, isn’t it? For a long time I didn’t really notice the _into_ , and didn’t bother to find out what a threshing sledge is, so I had a picture of someone, often enough myself, being given a sort of magic flail they could use to beat up on mountains.”

She smiled reminiscently, laughing at herself a little.

“But there is that _into_ , and when I realised it meant _becoming_ the threshing sledge, I found out what one was, or is, because some people still use them. And they are like a sledge — a slightly curved rectangle of boards nailed together, maybe five or six foot by three or four, with sharp stones or bits of metal on the underside, and you weight one with big stones and stand on it while horses or oxen pull it over reaped grain to thresh it, to separate grain you want from chaff you don’t. So the verse says you’ll become a wooden rectangle someone will stand on, that can grind down mountains. And one day I noticed that if you grind down mountains you get hills, but the verse says the hills will be made like chaff, so what’s being removed is grain. And what grain could that possibly be?”

She shrugged.

“Some newer translations say you’ll make mountains into chaff, or turn everything into dust, but I don’t like ignoring the Hebrew that way. Then again, we are Episcopalians, not Fundamentalists, and since a seventeenth-century Englishman called Thomas Browne pointed out the Bible mentions the phoenix but he doubted such a creature could be found in nature, we’ve accepted that Scripture uses metaphor. So this has to be metaphor, too, but saying what? And why that particular metaphor, which you’d think would be a lot less attractive if you know what a threshing sledge is, and how hard mountains can be, as I presume Isaiah did? And I think the answer has to lie in that mysterious grain, not the poor old mountains.”

I decided extempore sermons were pretty good to receive as well as dish out, and I wasn’t the only one listening hard.

“If I’m teaching anyone to suck eggs, forgive me, but when you are dependent on grain you grow, for bread to survive winters and feed livestock, a threshing sledge is a serious thing. It’s a long step beyond a flail, where you just whack grain with a stick plus ropes or chains, and it means more harvest, more quickly, with less effort, before things get rained on or spoiled some other way. So it’s a good thing, especially a new one with sharp teeth. And we all face mountains of one or another kind, problems in our own lives, and our society, culture, nation, world. But we don’t want to destroy them, just fix the problems. To separate wheat from chaff, even if it means taking a threshing sledge to those mountains. Only, who’s got a threshing sledge that’s up to the job, mountains being plenty tough? Or, harder still, but remember that _into_ , who can be that threshing sledge?”

She looked at me, and my heart sank.

“Apologies again, Ms Hauptman, but this verse has been in my mind all week, and longer, because it seems to me that when you have, ah, gone a little Isaiah-ish, shall I say, on things that attack you, or your family, and extended that to wider if not quite root causes, you are more capable than anyone else I’ve seen of threshing mountains small, getting needed grain. From the chaff of Cantrip, the shining example of the Freed, and the, ah, Farouts to replace it, cleansing Hanford and the Medicine Wolf Accords. From the deeply distressing and necessary prosecution of ex-senator Heuter a renewed sense of accountability and discussion of how our justice system works, or doesn’t. And in recent weeks, well, I had been thinking of it as a series of bodyblows to the two-party system, but now I’d rather say you’re being and riding that new threshing sledge with sharp teeth. And the mountains are not looking in such good shape.”

I couldn’t stop the blush.

“I’m embarrassing you, and I apologise, but it has been in my heart. It isn’t any pastor’s job to tell congregants how to vote, nor to weigh in on overtly political issues, but our church has with many accepted that Medicine Wolf at the least constitutes a divinely sanctioned wake-up call, and you have played a very significant part in that. And as its prolonged manifestation at Sacajawea State Park yesterday confirms, it is supporting your amplifications of that wake-up call, extending to your very thought-provoking slate. And now I’ve painted myself into a corner, which is one problem with extempore sermons, but I can pray God be with you in your endeavour and trials, to protect you and your family against those who hearts are hardened and violent, and guide you in choosing your mountains to thresh, and I ask all to join me in doing so.”

She did, and they did. I’d have been making that prayer anyway, not for the first or last time, and if I was less enamoured of the back half of the sermon there was comfort in a weight of communal goodwill. Then Reverend Jenkins took me aback, again, by adding that as she hadn’t been able to clear what she’d said with me, she felt she should offer a chance to reply, and did I want it? Reluctantly I rose and went forward.

“I’m not comfortable with this, Reverend, everyone, and there’s no way I’m going to preach. But I will say that while I am very grateful for all your prayers, and thank you for them, I am much less so with sacramentalising Medicine Wolf, let alone me by extension. Everyone’s conscience is their own, but I cannot say I believe God has lately been any more hands on than usual. The Great Manitou of the Columbia Basin was there soon after the basin itself, at least eight million years ago, and First People had some contact with it between maybe 15,000 and 10,000 years ago. Then it withdrew to its depths, until our dams and pollution, with the presence of the Fae and latterly Guayota, woke it last year. Yes, that triggered a lot of things, but for me and any preternatural falls within the realm of known events, and does not demand divine explanation. Nor does Medicine Wolf have any knowledge of a singular deity sending it along. So while I am not unhappy with the _effects_ on Fundamentalists — being greener and more tolerant are good, and it helps me electorally — I do _not_ share their need to believe God tapped us on the shoulder, and there has been nothing I call revelation, however great the surprises.”

I shrugged.

“For me, as for any magic-user, magic is practical. With the Fae, Werewolves, Elder Spirits, and Manitous all out, it is happening in public more often. And yes, there are all sorts of theological problems with what is magic and what constitutes a miracle. But the magic I have, and Adam, the Marrok, Medicine Wolf, Coyote, Gwyn ap Lugh, is all natural. We were born with it, or got it from another preternatural by conquest or gifting, and it derives one way or another from the natural world. I assume it was part of God’s creation, if only as a potential within the Big Bang, but I have never seen any indication that what any of us do with our magics is a matter of anything except our own natures, capacities, and wills. It blesses our lives in some ways, curses them in others, longevity counting under both heads, and for those who seek to be moral and upright it tends to impose a sense of obligation, to use magical strength to fight the good fight, and go that extra mile — but that’s consciences, not a divine finger.”

I raised a hand, palm out.

“So, to complete the syllogism, my politics may involve something like a threshing sledge, as our problems are surely mountainous enough, but is nevertheless very practical, joining human technological excellence with magical enhancement. And sacramentalising the magical bits as divinely ordained, approved, or instigated, is a very dangerous road to go down.” I turned. “I welcome prayers, Reverend, and I’m asking for everyone’s votes, but I need a friendly congregation a lot more than a fan club. Your SAGE sermon sounds good, and I’ll look forward to it, but I wonder if you might add mundane magic and divine miracles to your agenda. Was that a miracle outside, when Adam and I used dominance and my cloak’s amplification to shut up a bunch of rioting reporters? If I stripped and went coyote, as I did in that first candidacy broadcast, would you witness a miracle? If Adam or any wolf changed into their four-legged forms? Is Medicine Wolf walking on water any more miraculous than it walking on land, or eating Preskylovitch, or cleansing groundwater at Hanford? At Cantrip’s hellhole I saw Gwyn ap Lugh summon water to erode rock by thinking about it, and my reaction was, oh, you must have got that ability from Manannán mac Lír, because it’s what’s seas do, not lakes. There was every sense of potent fae magic, none whatever of the divine. And if we all hope Medicine Wolf will be able to divide the Cascadia ’Quake, which would be an incredible boon, there’s no kind of divine guarantee, and for a miracle it’s sure taking a lot of organisation and staffwork.”

I got a rueful smile of apology.

“Point taken, Ms Hauptman. And I think you’re better than me at extempore sermons.” There was murmured laughter. “But I still have a strong sense we’ve been blessed in you this week, and not just with that lot outside today.”

The congregation seemed to agree, but I shrugged again.

“Not for me to say, Reverend, but even if so, please remember that we Episcopalians believe in metaphors.”

I thought it a decent parting shot but the whole thing left me frazzled, with rue of my own in that Bran’s hesitations had not been wrong. I still couldn’t see we’d had much choice, and with the liturgy complete and people talking, David spoke to John-Julian, who’d been on the front door, and came across.

“Seems to be working, Sarge, Mercy. JJ says the media have retreated to the Hilton Garden to sort themselves out. Talking-head opinion’s split, but whiners are mostly media, and the KPD, Mayor, and Governor all issued strong statements condemning their behaviour and thanking you for magical assistance in restoring order. KPD backed you on mass arrests with prosecution and forfeiture as well.”

“Thanks, Corp. Are they covering their own debate?”

David grinned. “Oh yeah. Mercy gave them real issues to chew, so there’s a whole lotta shakin’ going on. Consequences are back in fashion for the media? Now _that’s_ a miracle.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you start.”

“Anything you say, Threshing Sledge.”

I so did not need more names, but it was a new levity in David I welcomed, and made Adam laugh in surprise as well as pleasure, so I contented myself with a light thump on David’s arm.

“Enough already. We need to move, if the roads are actually passable.”

For once I was glad to leave Reverend Jenkins and fellow congregants to palavering. Eavesdropping on good of oneself is also less fun than you might think, however gratifying at some primal level, and when I caught myself again enjoying our traffic priority wondered if I was getting a god-complex. Cars were hooting, drivers offering thumbs-ups, which didn’t help, but when I mentioned it Adam gave me a fisheye.

“That would be no, love. Reverend Jenkins mis-spoke a little, but you set everyone straight. And I have to say threshing sledges are a metaphor that works for me. When you do the grinding, you feel the weight on your back, and you also get ground.”

“Un huh.” I hesitated. “You’re thinking of Vietnam?”

“Yeah. It’s oddly nice to be able to do that without wincing so much, and that’s down to you. Corp’s got some of his humour back, too, and before yesterday I didn’t think that’d ever happen.”

“I noticed, love, but it was the cloak and Manannán’s Bane that did the work. And the spirits, I’m told.”

“Maybe so, but amplifiers need something to amplify, and ghosts have always been avatar business.”

“And the Boss’s.”

“Yeah. But that was for your sake too, and Warren’s. You’ve been nailing imaginations and hope all week, Mercy, as well as pragmatics. It’s just Reverend Jenkins doing her own version of the triple bow.”

Brent laughed, and I made a face.

“She shouldn’t do it from the pulpit, then.”

It was hard to go on being grumpy when I saw the mob at our gates was down to a pool of three, and SEALs and remaining KPD officers very happy indeed. So was Jesse, greeting me with a hug and her line about being awesome. Even Jill gave me a thumbs-up.

“That was some good fixing, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars.”

“We’ll see, Jill. And apparently it’s Threshing Sledge now.”

Her doubletake let me escape, and as we were for once eating out I iced the fruitcake, enjoying the normality of Jesse stealing a finger-scoop and the empty bowl, then made brownies to send to SEALs and KPD. When Andrea blew in with Frank and Rachel, all of Jesse’s mind, I got dragged to see the continuing media bunfight — a CBS lawyer explaining to Rude Fox-guy that duly deputised magic halting a mob endangering lives was not actionable, and the KPD really could seize equipment and make arrests if reporters were involved in disorder, so as the big networks and papers agreed a pool system was necessary would he kindly get real. Fox-guy was into another scattergun refusal, more or less claiming media exemption from the law of gravity, when his phone rang. The jeers when he said Fox were in after all amused, but the bickering that resumed about who’d do what when for the pool was dull, and the clock ticking.

David was sticking to the boat-route, to see how it worked, so when Mary Jo called to say she and her man were on their way to Game Road with a people carrier, there was one exodus, and an hour later, when he called to say he was five miles out of Toppenish, another. Waiting, I’d fielded calls from an amused Jenny, a deputised presidential candidate being another precedent, and an approving AED, to say two more seethes had registered but Wulfe had yet to get back to him. There was vamp activity ahead of the full moon, and wolves and fae had spread word departure from the country would not be allowed. Nothing had been said of wooden bullets, but humans, wolves, and fae or half-fae had been seen outside seethes, packing Glocks rather than carrying stakes.

There wasn’t much I could do except email Wulfe to say ‘Oy!’, which I did, so I took the rest under advisement and went to let the Secret Service know we’d be gone a while. The senior agent was not happy I’d be ditching them, but having Jill, Brent, and the Freed on us was mollifying, and there wasn’t anything he could do. Jesse was coming, so it was a fair party with hands on the cloak as I asked it to open an arch.

The organic Yakama farm that provided lunch to tour parties on their way back to the Tri-Cities from seeing petroglyphs and whatever could seat up to a hundred, so it was good cover for a strange assemblage. Jim had known the owners for years, if surprised by the request they’d been more than willing, and despite being a little freaked by the presence of Medicine Wolf and Elder Spirits gravely offered me approval. Leslie, Maya, and families were already there, David and crew just arriving, so I met Boz Lucas and Maya’s children, and there were a bunch of introductions before we went to meet … representatives, I decided, there not being a proper term for manitou-briefing-designees. The process was underway, and they were gathered in a barn, watching. First People were talking to Coyote, Bear, Raven, and Wolf, but everyone looked at us as we entered, and a moment later, when Medicine Wolf finished reading a woman I thought Lakota, it said hello.

“And to you, Medicine Wolf, everyone. Do please carry on.”

Jesse took Andrea to talk to her Gramps, wolves shifted towards Adam, and I circulated with Frank and Rachel, trying to remember names and locations, absorbing impressions. Despite strong ethnic presences and broad cultural commonalities, widely underpinned by working knowledge of the great river, they were as diverse a bunch as you’d expect from such a geographical spread, and it was heartening. They were excited and grateful to be asked, and appreciated what I’d set up, but had a lot of dignity and weren’t going to gush at someone offering consideration everyone should. The presence of Medicine Wolf kept me in proper perspective, rippling manitou magic tingling more nerves than mine.

Readings were as swift as ever, but Medicine Wolf was taking time to talk with each representative, so it was going to be a while. People inevitably wanted to ask about events of the week, and we answered, but I shifted conversation when I could towards Ol’ Manitou River, the Blues as one great song of the Mississippi, and accumulated meanings of ‘Ol’ Man River’. The music Coyote was passing on came into it, and besides some liking for bluesmen and -women I had I collected interesting names one or another person thought sadly missing. So did ecology, cleaning up basins, levees, migrating bison, and buffalo rangers.

There were good vegetarian sandwiches and wraps, with an array of traditionally smoked and cured meats for carnivores. Elder Spirits fielded questions about deputising Warren but as Bear pointed out the big decisions had been brokered, and it was a distinct advantage to have a werewolf in the role as even hard-headed First People needed to think carefully before trying to get stroppy with one of those. Calvin ruefully agreed, but raised smiles when he asked if, Warren being two-spirited as gay and wolf, that made three or four spirits.

Coyote grinned. “Good question. Who knows if spirits are commutative? Maybe we should call him He Has More Spirits Than We Can Count.”

“Too long, mathematical Da. And doesn’t experience matter more than however many spirits? How about Long Wolf?”

“That’s not bad. But why stop at one name, Threshing Sledge?”

I gave him a look. “You were listening?”

“Only with one of my big ears. You were on a roll. And though I’m really not into Christian scripture, Isaiah sounds more fun than not.”

“Only you. Warren could use an Amerindian name as well as a feather, though, so do go on thinking, please.”

I was still pondering it, listening to an idea of Jesse’s, when Medicine Wolf completed readings, and stood to stretch before settling again and looking at me, though it spoke to all.

_This has been very helpful, Mercy. The press of events when I awakened meant it was a while before I could gather fuller knowledge of humans within my territory, but I will be able to give my neighbour a much better framework for it to grasp what you all tell it. It knows more to begin with, not having been as deeply withdrawn, but its size makes for much variation. How will you seek to organise matters on Friday?_

I ran through what I wanted. State governors in the Mississippi Basin ought to be read, all thirty-two of them, with Canadian premiers, but I wanted First People and African Americans to have priority. Columbia Basin governors might attend, to offer guidance in manitou-interfacing ; the Man couldn’t but would be flying into St Louis the day after to commit in principle. But it was down to Ol’ Manitou River, and what shape, form, or colour we might find ourselves talking to and being read by was its call. With a sideways look at Medicine Wolf, I added that while this great manitou came recommended, manitous seemed to reflect their territory in some measure — Guayota had been unpredictably explosive, as befitted an active volcano, but river-system manitous were much nicer, though volume of water and vertical fall made for some differences in style or attitude. Medicine Wolf dropped its jaw in a wolf grin.

 _Style_ and _attitude, Mercy. My neighbour is not exactly younger than me, for the centre of this continent is old and precipitation always has to go somewhere, but has faced greater changes. With my vertical fall I cleave strongly to the steepest way, but my neighbour moves its main channels about as I do not, and its extents were altered by withdrawal of the ice. You might say I resumed, while it grew. And it is bounded by mountain ranges while I run through the Rockies as well as dividing the Cascades. It does have seismic sectors, but major vulcanism only around Yellowstone, and that is more intermittent than mine._

“Makes sense. And I was meaning to ask about Yellowstone. There are scientists who do a lot of fretting about high-volume basaltic flows from there. Are they right? And if so, is there any way of reducing the risk?”

_There is much magma there, certainly, and I remember it flooding out just before the ice truly set in. By all means ask my neighbour about it._

“Thank you. There’s no point restoring migratory bison if they get cooked on the range.” I ignored Elder Spirit winces. “I’m probably talking nonsense, but is the Cascadia ’quake any kind of opportunity?”

I got a dire wolf frown.

_An opportunity for what?_

“Draining magma. I was thinking, big shock, and, I dunno, open a tunnel so it can go back under Jackson’s Hole, or wherever it came from.”

_Maybe. And maybe not. Magma is no politer or amenable to persuasion than earthquakes, Mercy. They are all rock, and rock is stubborn._

“Un huh. I get you can’t shoot earthquakes, Medicine Wolf. But magma is by definition fluid, and other things being equal fluids flow downhill.” Overhill, anyway. “You can open tunnels within yourself, and drop things below the mantle. Can your neighbour do the same?”

_I cannot see why it should not._

“Then it could open a tunnel fifty or whatever feet wide that led away and down. A drain. Or two, or six. Take magma away from the hot spot or whatever drives it, and let it cool off some.”

There was a silence while Medicine Wolf looked at me quizzically.

 _You do not ask boring questions, Mercy. It is one reason I like you._ It rose, stretching again, and sounded thoughtful. _You should let it read you first, Mercy. I am increasingly pleased I did so. Fare well, all. I will hope to meet you again, and my thanks for your efforts to be here._

It vanished, and though I wouldn’t call it an ease, there was a certain relaxation as magical pressure diminished, even among Elder Spirits. Jill’s voice was a murmur to my left.

“Medicine Wolf also votes not-boring. Momma really did have a point.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty**

The Secret Service were relieved to see us back, but less so when, after taking Frank and Rachel home, and seeing Andrea off, Adam and I asked to see the senior agent with David and his guys, Brent, and Jill. He came into the kitchen warily as I got a roast into the oven.

“Is there a problem, ma’am?”

“No, but decisions to make, Agent. Do please sit. Coffee?” He accepted a cup, and Adam and I sat opposite him. “Tomorrow is full moon, so Adam and the pack will go hunting in the Blue Mountains, south of Dayton. And the Freed will be out by Rimrock, so wolf cover here will be zero. Fae and Special Forces are covering the seethe, and you’re aware of arrangements for others.” He nodded. “Now, usually I’d go, but not being moonbound I sometimes stay with Jesse, or run with other packs as a guest.”

He nodded. “Is it safer for you to stay or go?”

“Yup. Thing is, vamps know wolves are moonbound, so that ups the odds of something happening, but attacking this house is contra-indicated. Then again, what happened Wednesday night is not on tap and needs fae permission and effort. Have vamps worked that out? Maybe. Would one or more be willing to risk dismissal on that basis? I’d say not but angry and upset doesn’t make for rational.” I shrugged. “Neither Adam or I really expect further attack this soon, nor anything quite so crude again. But leaving me and Jesse uncovered bothers Adam, and there aren’t actually many places safer than the middle of a werewolf pack. Opinions?”

“Huh. I’ve never seen a hunt. Do you stick together or spread out?”

Adam shrugged. “You need to flush, then co-ordinate to chase.”

“Right. And how distracted are wolves?”

“Point. But Mercy could stick close with me, Darryl, and Auriele. David and Brent will run with us, and David’s men could be a part of a perimeter, with Jill and Dan and the Joes, but nine won’t cut it.”

“How much land do you have?”

We’d doubled it last year, and Adam grinned.

“A bit under 5000 acres. It’s a valley and the ridgelines are dense forest. Base is a mile and some wide, though.”

“Huh. Even fifteen would be a stretch, and that would leave no-one here. I can ask the SEALs.”

“That would be good. You’re OK with, in effect, guarding the pack?”

“Our brief is Ms Hauptman, and if she’s with them …” He shrugged. “Can’t say I’m not intrigued, sir, but I can’t see it’s the safest option. That would be to stay here, cloak handy, ma’am, and go Underhill with Miss Hauptman if anything happens.”

I had to give him points. “That would be very last resort, and could create other problems.”

“And Mercy doesn’t cut and run so well. But we have a Plan B. Jesse?”

“Do you know about the school intranet, sir?”

“In outline, Miss Hauptman. You’re going to do campaign reports on what it means to have a parent running for federal office.”

“That’s correct. It means my … facial anonymity will go, because PBS will have the right to syndicate clips. I turn eighteen early next year, so it would go then anyway, and this is worth it. But, one, birds and stones, and two, that Monday nonsense about Dad hunting, so I was wondering about photo-ops.”

“Photo-ops? You amid … what? a lot of furry tail-wagging?”

Adam gave him a fish-eye and Jesse grinned.

“More or less. Mom doesn’t have to change.”

“And though she could do with a run, she’ll stay on two legs. Kyle would be with us, and Lucia, at minimum. Maybe more spouses and partners.”

“Numbers?”

“Forty-two wolves, plus us, Joel and Lucia, and if Adam goes that way maybe twenty, twenty-five humans. Not all want publicity.”

“So wolves change, you don’t, photo ops, they hunt and … those on two legs do what?”

“Eat and return. Jesse and I need to be up sharp Tuesday, so waiting the hunt out is probably not on, but it may be quick. There are lots of deer, and we’re only there every fourth week so they forget.”

“I’m hoping.” Adam waggled a hand. “Longer runs are good, but everyone knows we’re squeezed right now.”

“Quick meaning?”

“An hour or two. Wolves can’t change back until the moon’s going down and tend to be a bit spacey for a while after, so I’d usually wait before letting them drive, but partners can do that.”

“Interesting. That sounds workable, sir. Bottom line, if Ms Hauptman’s there, we should be.”

“Alright, thank you.” Adam looked at Jesse. “You’re sure about this? I see the logic, but I can’t like it.”

“Gonna happen anyway, Dad, so let’s get something out of it. And maximal spouses would be good. The Freed can’t show that.”

None of them yet had any desire for sexual partners, and though that would change it might be a while. Adam shut his eyes, then nodded.

“Alright, Jesse. I’ll call the pack. Call Caroline, love?”

He went to do so, the Agent to make calls of his own, and I rang Caroline to ask if she, Al, and Vince were up for a jaunt to the Blue Mountains tomorrow evening. Once I’d explained you couldn’t have kept her away with a stick, despite short notice and being booked for Tuesday.

<It’s not just the scoop, Mercy, or the excellent PR, is it? You’re driving home the painful lesson you gave my idiot colleagues today. Be nice, get rewarded. Be silly, and get whacked on national TV.>

“Someone had to do something.”

< No argument. I’m just watching dominoes fall in pretty patterns and wondering how in God’s name you manage to line them all up.>

“It’s just maximising profit on necessity, Caroline. I didn’t know this morning would happen, and we’d have been asking you about this sooner or later. Turns out sooner is good, so why not take every advantage?”

<Especially when it’s fun.>

Without the vamp factor it would be, and getting into the mountains was always good. When we’d rung off, I repeated her thought for David’s crew and Jesse.

“You think she’s right about how the rest of the media will take it?”

“Oh yeah.” Travis distributed beers, and popped the cap of his own. “What happens if they trail us?”

“Land’s private, so if they cross in it’s trespass.”

“Fence?”

“No. Deer don’t like them. But there’s a sturdy polegate eighty yards in, where the access track runs between stands of pine. Just after wolves came out some bozos figured a pack’s parked cars were a handy target.”

“People can always reach a new level of dim.” Connor shook his head. “Though that one’s hard to beat. What happened?”

“GTA jailtime. The cars they took had tracers and they went straight to their chopshop. So did we. The pack went to hear them sentenced, and they seemed glad to be kept safe by the state for a few years.”

“I bet. You said eat, Mercy. Campfire?”

“There’s a proper barbecue.”

“You cook the deer?”

I grinned. “Nah. It’s for spouses. Adam didn’t use to ask them, because publicity, but once wolves were out some were curious, and lonely on full moons, so I pushed him.”

“And Mom wants barbecues everywhere. What’s up for grilling?”

“Burgers, bacon, soyburgers, corn, and falafels.”

“You can grill falafels?”

Lincoln sounded quizzical, and I grinned.

“No, but you can reheat precooked ones if the bars are set close enough. Rack I use has a crosshatched section and plate.”

Jill looked interested. “I could use one of those. Where’d you get it?”

“Zee, after I vented about bad design. He accepts commissions if they interest him, at an agreed price without any obligations involved.”

“He does? Oh, whatsit, _metalzauber_ … greater ease?”

“Yeah. The Iron Kissed are practical. And Zee’s happiest in his forge, I think. Metal doesn’t lie. The garage was an acceptable substitute, but since he sold it he’s been doing more, Tad says. I could ask but that tips towards a favour. You’d be better off making a straight enquiry.”

“Mmm. I want to see yours, but I might do that.” She frowned. “You know, Mercy, I can think of quite a few people who’d go for a grill with crosshatch and plate. And I know people who make range-sets. Would he license a design?”

“Maybe. Zee doesn’t mind money, but it’d have to be … a conspicuously fair deal — fee plus costs, and a sales percentage. Chisel any fae and they chisel right back. Be generous, and they feel obliged to do a superior job. Which reminds me I owe ap Lugh a call. Potatoes need peeling.”

I left them to discuss grills they had known, and unending educations, over potatoes, and discovered Adam was done talking to the pack. Most spouses would come, though not all wanted to be in any photographs, and I listened to reasons before making my call, and telling ap Lugh I had mentioned one of his post-Manannán powers when mousetrapped into an extempore sermon. To my relief he only raised his silver goblet.

“Bran Cornick told me you worked out that power was new to me in Wyoming.” He set the goblet down. “It was a marker of high competence. That night was as full of disclosures as secrecies, and I believe I can cope with some Episcopalians knowing I could not always erode rock.”

“When you put it like that …”

He smiled his austere smile. “I do, Mercy. You have not put a foot wrong all week that I have seen, and one line about magic the FBI also witnessed, having been religiously blindsided, is no exception.”

“I am glad to hear it, Gwyn ap Lugh.” I hesitated. “I wouldn’t have said it if I’d truly thought you’d object, but I would have sought your let if I’d foreseen the problem.”

He waved a hand, very permissively for a Gray Lord. “Noted, but you need not worry. And Nemane was glad of the information you had Bran Cornick pass on about Thursday. I felt magic at work but have no affinity for the dead.” I filed that away to think about. “She says there was a further … release yesterday, by Elder Spirits.”

“There was, and that’s now it, I’m told.” I gave a wry smile. “I’d tell you what I did Thursday if I knew, Gwyn ap Lugh. Our best guess is that those fourteen Undead had a high tally of human and avatar victims, and the cloak knows why I created Skuffles, so it went for more synergy. That opened a way, somehow, and yesterday was an intentional follow-up by Elder Spirits. I can’t aver it, but I’m pretty sure a … is there a collective noun for ghosts?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not that I am aware of.”

“Well, a whatever of ghosts moved on, however that works. It should make live and let unlive easier for avatars.”

“Nemane said a weight had been lifted, and we supposed victims of the Undead. It sounds well done. The song yesterday certainly was, and I enjoyed the leaders contrasting the rebuff to Reagan for seeking to appropriate the original and a willing recasting for you.”

“I haven’t seen those, Gwyn ap Lugh, but credit goes to the Boss.”

“Indeed. The _New York Times_ and _Chicago Tribune_ are better ones. And I believe I will enjoy tomorrow’s headlines also, Mercy. To abash the media is no small feat.”

We rang off with pleasantries, and finding potatoes under control I did some surfing. Ap Lugh was right about the leaders, the Boss having rung a lot of bells, and though they knew nothing of magical catharsis writers remembered Adam and David were vets. They broadened to the different campaign I was running, musical performances bracketing a simpler launch in Lexington, using my Amerindian name on posters, and my coercive offer (the _NYT_ ’s term) of the St Louis debate, predicting that rivals chary of committing would have to do so. There were decent pieces on Warren and 1776, and they’d begun to dig out evidence from army records of the Indian and Civil Wars and employment records at the ranch where he’d worked longest, successive owners having been packrats. It was hardly definitive, and wolf secrecy had meant avoiding photographs or leaving evidence that could be cleaned up, but it jibed with the bio he’d given and made people think about a lone bicentenarian life emotionally, in a way Jeremiah’s more detailed but sedentary record from the 1880s hadn’t. And there were signs of the wider coverage I’d snapped at the media mob about shirking — emails to registered supporters, and the idea of Coyote’s ad campaign — but not enough I regretted anything I’d said.

The Italian story had continuing discoveries setting scholars dancing. Some names I knew, some I didn’t, and it seemed like a magpie grab-bag, but Bonarata had taste in early books, and as Aldine and Bembine works had been properly looked after they were unusually pristine. So were copies of Shakespeare’s First to Fourth Folios, an original King James Bible, and a first edition of Vasari’s _Lives_. Foundry marks on gold had been analysed, and bars poured in most decades since the later fifteenth century had everyone scratching heads and conspiracy theories exploding. The Vatican had demanded immediate surrender of all papal and church papers as necessarily stolen. It wouldn’t get them, but I did wonder what it might have to say about vamps and papal history when truth was out. Or vamps and sacramental blood.

Surfing was curtailed by the arrival of earth fae. Increased bustle and unfamiliar presences meant they’d been making themselves scarce, and were wary of David and his crew, but our meals mattered so they were sucking it up. The guys’ relaxation in the kitchen helped, with their grave courtesy to all fae, and Pirandella had been surfing herself. She was a wicked gossip, and once Adam had carved and we were tucking in, she fed us titbits as she ate baby corn, sharp teeth gleaming.

“Purity blessing you has everyone reeling, Mercedes Elf-friend and Troll-friend. Unicorns love to dance, and Purity has always strutted it with the best, so that wasn’t a surprise, though the style and reference to the Undead are widely admired. But a globally televised blessing is a new departure, on top of Underhill shining Overhill.” She reached for another cob, eyes wide with mischief. “It is said a careless leprechaun who heard that news in her garden said “Well, strike me pink!”, and her well did.”

I gave her a look. “By changing her colour or her orientation?”

She laughed delightedly. “Rumour did not say, but I would have to think colour. The other would not readily occur to a well.”

It hadn’t struck me before that the asexuality of water was a very good thing. “Right. And what motives does rumour ascribe to Purity?”

“Oh, rumour has many ideas. Unicorns are unpredictable even when times are simple, as these are not. She has been a friend of Irpa’s for centuries and is returning a favour, Edythe commanded her for one or another Gray Lord’s reason, she shared Underhill’s evident grudge against Manannán mac Lír and is in league with his Bane, she wants grazing rights Overhill, she approves your cleaning the land and water at Hanford.” She shrugged. “The last I would think true. Pure water is one thing unicorns do. But Nuthatch and I think she wishes to get back to other things unicorns do, or did, and surprise blessings is one of them. It is how we feel about you, so why should she not feel likewise? Rarely seen is not the same as never, and there must be new tales as well as old ones.”

“That makes sense. What other things do unicorns do?”

“Save virgins, weep healing tears when hope is lost, shine by moonlight.” She gave me a sly look. “Occasionally skewer people.”

“Un huh. Only in righteous causes, I trust.”

“Certainly. It is in their nature to be discriminating.”

“Good to know. Are their horns self-cleaning when it does happen?”

The earth fae all laughed.

“Oh yes. She is not called Purity without reason, Mercedes. No dirt will ever mar her hide.”

“Really? Irpa brushes her, Nuthatch.” Jesse was mopping her plate. “She finds it soothing, and they talk about music.”

“Every little helps in burnishing a unicorn, Jesse Hauptman, and a troll is not so little. It also keeps Irpa in Edythe’s good books.”

“Always better than not.”

“Certainly, Mercedes. And _her_ free gift of five fetches has tongues wagging also, like your words about the careful wrangling of Gray Lords.”

“Un huh. It’s a contact sport. What do the wagging tongues say?”

“That it is long and long since any Gray Lord used such a magic, however some child-hunters did ere they were reconfined.”

“And that you told the fetches you were glad of their service.”

“The tongues have that right, Pirandella.”

“Fetches are but wood and glamour, Mercedes.”

“Even so. Failing to offer gratitude for loyal service would sit wrong. And you’re dancing round something.”

“So I am. We are unsure how you will feel, but Underhill has named her second creation in the Garden of Manannán’s Death. The Fountain of Uphill Justice has been joined by the Statue of Surprising Mercy.”

We thought about it, but I could see Adam liked it, and so did I. The joke was good, and rode on truth, for I had given Manannán a chance to live, however diminished, when I could have asked for his death, and that he had ignored it was on him, not me. That offset the killing, and though it wasn’t logical the name’s allusion to _why_ I’d been naked, which wasn’t an excuse he’d had, soothed discomfort with strange eyes seeing the sculpture. But fae think in triads, which do not have only two members.

“I’m good with that, Pirandella. How’s the betting on item three?”

Earth fae laughed again, very musically.

“Uncle Mike is keeping the book, Mercedes. Ask him.”

“Travel to a fae bar isn’t easy just now, Nuthatch. But maybe you could put in an entry for me.”

Nuthatch gave me a calculating look. “That would be interesting to do. It costs ten of your dollars. What should I tell Uncle Mike?”

I didn’t have my purse so Adam fished out a bill, and I drew myself up.

“The Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility. It should be duck-shaped.”

I hadn’t seen any earth fae except Pirandella manage an unholy smile before, but Nuthatch managed one as it sank in, and Jill, whom I’d amused with the sea-god-to-pond story, shook her head.

“Duckponds. Valorous Impossibility. You want to gloss that, Mercy?”

“Humour moves things sideways, Jill, and this moves them to all three sides at once.”

“Right. And left. Sure it does.”

Jesse laughed. “File under legendary vengeance, Jill. And now we know what Mom is saying in the Statue of Surprising Mercy. Or will be.”

“We do?”

“Yup. We could argue phrasing, but it adds up to _Sea-god, schmea-god. Behave, or I’ll turn you into a duckpond._ ” She grinned. “You gotta have the right circumstances, but getting them and delivering is unanswerable.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty-One**

Monday was spent speaking to slate candidates before the release of names (including Vanna, her club being Trouble-squasher boding well), and doing interviews after. There were questions I deflected citing ongoing FBI investigation, and a deal of rehashing, which was fair — it takes rehash to absorb the strange — but I pushed discussion of St Louis, remarking the _NYT_ and _Chicago Tribune_ leaders and the fun I would have if rivals ducked out.

“After all,” I told a New York station, after plugging Vanna, four young ethnic contenders for city districts, and the half-fae stirring up Long Island, “a candidate refusing free airtime needs a psychiatrist as well as a backbone.”

That went happily viral, as did my observation to a Texan station, where a wolf was running for governor, that as demand for oil and gas would fall, longer-term, looking out for the people who’d brought the state such wealth rather than leaving them in the green lurch would be good. Pack-bonds were beginning to fizz as hours to moonrise dropped into single digits, but no-one asked about that. Lunch was only sandwiches, but I had headlines to enjoy, though not many interviewers had chosen to go there. My favourite, besides a NOSTRA CULPA from the _Washington Post_ , was the _Seattle Post-Intelligencer_ — WE PRAY YOU MERCY, MERCY. You had to give them points for — I looked it up — antanaclasis, and I sent the editor an email telling him they needn’t pray, only ensure their journalism was as civil as it was rhetorical. Among the good-hearted there was a shame they couldn’t hide, but among the bad a whining resentment. Rude-Fox-guy was not alone in delusions of mystical media rights, and a snarky CNN segment from Wolf Blitzer about their damaged van and hotwiring won them an email asking if they had yet discovered where their driver had got to, why they needed one who did nothing else, and what on earth s/he thought s/he’d been doing to park illegally and disappear with the keys, before observing that their crew, like all media at our gates, were relying on portable johns Adam and I provided because it was easier than having our verges fouled. As I copied it to Fox it went on air instantly, and I copied CNN into a third, to Fox, pointing out they relied on the johns too, and perhaps the pool should pick up the tab. It was a fun distraction from the pack’s growing need to change, and a calculated amusement for Adam, holding his wolves and himself down.

Brent and David were taking care of moon itch by working out, and as they spent a hard hour playing Skuffles-in-the-Middle, without success, I discovered her physical activity soothed my own itches. I went down when they finished to find Brent and David sweat-soaked, Skuffles fresh as a daisy, and the audience of David’s crew, Jill, and duty wolves appreciative of pure speed. Skuffles bounced over, skulls rattling.

_There you are._

“Yup, here I am, Maxi-me. How’s tricks?”

_Yours are in very good shape, so mine are too. Nuthatch and Pirandella asked me to escort them to Uncle Mike’s, and when they gave him the ten dollars and said they wanted the Book of Wagers in your name I heard any number of pins drop._

“Did you, Skuffles? Why ever were fae carrying pins?”

She gave me a long-suffering look. _Ho ho. Do you want to know what Uncle Mike said when they dictated the entry?_

“Please.”

 _Coyote faith and begorrah._ Her jaw dropped in a grin. _Then he drank a pint of Guinness._

Having a Skuffles was very odd, because I knew absolutely I was parsing it as she had. Uncle Mike _was_ Irish but played stage-Irish to perfection, and was far more calculating than his glamour suggested.

“Good one. And?”

 _More pins, before a great buzz._ She angled her head, eyes glinting. _Lesser fae do not deal so well with sideways times three. It was fun._

“I imagine it was. Underhill will understand.”

_Oh yes. She is researching duck shapes. Uncle Mike said he cannot honourably pay you until it happens, but we have 870 dollars coming._

I raised eyebrows. “You spoke to Underhill?”

_We came back via the Garden and she was there. When Nuthatch told her what you said, she asked about sideways to be sure she had it right. She is so sideways herself that sideways cubed needs a lot of triangulation for her, but she was laughing._

That sounded better than not, though that much sideways made even my head hurt. I was also wondering about the other eighty-six ideas, and who’d had them, but it would be a while before I could ask Uncle Mike. Mostly, though, I was happy Underhill had accepted a compensatory deflation of giant nude ice me, extending the joke — _heroic_ and _duckpond_ do not collocate well — and completing Manannán’s posthumous comedown.

“Good to know. How is she researching duck shapes?”

_I have no idea. Why?_

“Can’t do digital Underhill, but Bran has a complete copy of Audubon’s _Birds of America_. He drew good ducks.”

_So he did. I will ask Bran about it._

She vanished before I could say _Rather you than me_ , but it took care of letting him know and spared me his inevitable eye-roll. It would also amuse Anna and Charles, and was already amusing David and Brent.

“She’ll just turn up in the Marrok’s study?”

“Or wherever. I knew an autonomous Skuffles would be interesting.”

“You could say.” David laughed, a welcome sound. “You really are something else. Uphill Justice, Surprising Mercy, and Valorous Impossibility. Go figure.”

“You should do a visitor brochure. Or what do they call them, plaques.”

“Oh hush, Brent. The fae can work it out for themselves.”

“Jesse was right about legendary vengeance.” Jill gave me a half-salute. “It’s one for the books. And I’m losing count of your names. Yesterday it was Threshing Sledge, now it’s She Does Brave Duckponds?”

“No, but it’s about to be Dinner Woman. We’ll be heading out as soon as Dan calls to say Jesse’s out of school. Charcoal into the Cherokee, please, with the grill, while I pack food.”

The senior Secret Service guy found me chopping onions, and as I finished that and began to fill cold boxes I learned SEALs would be riding herd, and less pleasingly that a fruitcake with a knife had been arrested at a speech Frank had given in Baltimore.

“He was high as a kite on something, ma’am, and insisted Mr Lafferty was a werewolf. Wanted to cut his hand to prove it, like Mr Stourbridge.”

“Hell. How close did he get?”

“Into the foyer, but not the auditorium. Mr Lafferty saw nothing, but he and Ms Lafferty were informed afterwards. SOP.”

“Right. Thanks.”

I checked Frank’s schedule, and as he and Rachel would be being driven home to Philly, made a call. They were shaken but making light of it, and seemed to find it comforting only a nick to the hand had been intended.

<Not one I’d anticipated, Mercy, and it’s hard to prove a negative, but no harm, no foul. They said he was on something.>

“Fruitcakes often are. And not being a wolf is a negative you can prove, Frank, for those with any logic. Medical records do it. Or a press conference tonight, under the full moon. Every wolf will be changing soon.”

They knew as well as I did fruitcakes and logic were not in close contact, but liked it. The speech had gone well, and since my words yesterday their press contingent was up, so that was alright, and I left them happier than I’d found them, I hoped. The agent stayed to listen, and looked thoughtful as I got back to cold boxes.

“Shots of wolves under the moon here and Mr Lafferty there. Mutually reinforcing.”

“We can hope. Though speaking of fruitcakes …”

I’m not sure using SEALs to deliver fruitcake to a neighbour is quite the done thing, but their lieutenant was tickled by the request and off to Mr and Mrs Andrews it went, with a note of thanks for neighbourliness and valour in the face of magical alarm. I gathered the TV-pool crew had trailed it, delighted to get a story, but saying anything unless the Andrews did would be tacky. It was courtesy, not a stunt. With David’s permission Travis drifted down to tell pool people we’d be heading out shortly to hunt, and good media were meeting us. He came back pleased with himself, and relayed a message that Mr and Mrs Andrews had been touched.

“She shakes, she bakes, and she makes no mistakes. Who is that masked coyote?”

I flapped a hand. “Brindled, not masked.” My phone pinged, and a glance confirmed Dan’s message. “Time to go. Fire up those Duramax engines.”

The Secret Service hadn’t seen the full alarm system set as the house had never been empty, and watched with professional approval as door and window locks, movement and vibration detection sensors, cameras, and external floodlights were confirmed by rows of green LEDs.

“Good system.”

“There are magical defences too, but they look after themselves.”

The senior agent gave me a look, but let it go as we piled into vehicles, SEALs and Secret Service in SUVs, Hummers fore and aft. KPD provided outriders to siren us through to I12, but once we were over the Snake it was a fifty-five-mile run to Dayton, more boring than not. As far as Eureka the road ran dead straight between occasional sharp bends, irrigation circles greening the view, then paralleled the Touchet River in dry scrubland. Between Lamar and Prescott we caught up with Jesse, Dan, and the Joes, who’d fallen in with other pack cars, and Dan tucked their SUV behind mine while pack cars tacked on behind the rear Hummer. Approaching Waitsburg David took us off 124 to avoid the urban junction of 124 and US12, joining 12 at Huntsville. Along the way we collected more pack, passed Lewis and Clark Trail State Park. Light was fading, the Blue Mountains filling the horizon, and land greening from rain they shed.

There was no way of avoiding downtown Dayton, US12 running through it as Main Street, and we needed South 4th, which became North Touchet and headed into the mountains, but the Secret Service had a long reach and a Sherriff’s Deputy was waiting to clear us on our way. Tourist season was starting, so there were stares and waves as we were recognised, and I waved back. The pack passed through often enough, over the last fifteen months with the Freed, and Adam had had to register the land purchase, so we’d taken time to pay calls on the Sherriff and S&R people, and were in good local odour. But the convoy was a spectacle, and as another Deputy was blocking East Main to let us swing onto South 4th a larger crowd had gathered. I had time for more waving and smiling as we made the turn, and a Deputy stayed with us to Baileyburg before pulling aside. I recognised him vaguely, and slowed to offer thanks. As North Touchet began its steady climb Brent relaxed and gave me a glance.

“That was smooth. It’s gonna be interesting when it’s presidential, mind. Those armoured limos are not designed for roads like this.”

“Huh. I’m not presuming, Brent, but point. Good thing the Secret Service guys will see it today.”

“They have a presidential coach, don’t they? But no armoured SUV I’ve seen.” Jill sounded interested. “That would be a challenge, Brent. High suspensions and the weight of armouring don’t go well together.”

“True. Get it right, though …”

They argued SUV design and the mass of bullet-proof glass as we climbed for fifteen miles and turned off at Billups Gulch, to curl on backroads towards Mountain Top in the denser woodland of south-facing slopes. The last mile was a gravelled track leading to a weekend house owned by a doctor in Colfax, and a shallow, muddier climb between encroaching trees to the polegate. There were already dozens of vehicles in the sloping meadow we used as a parking lot, including Adam’s SUV of the day, Joel’s and Lucia’s old Ford pickup, and the KEPR van. Itchy wolves were being anchored by spouses and older children as they waited on permission to change, and had a fire burning. Adam’s control was rock-solid, but moonrise was only forty minutes away and from the wolf-yellow in his eyes that faded a little as I kissed him despatch in order. He went to talk to the Secret Service and SEALs as the rear Hummer and last pack cars parked, wolves spilled out, and Jesse headed for me, Dan and the Joes trailing warily.

Caroline, Vince, and Al were spooked by the gathering emotions, almost a scent in the air with earth and resin, but clear on who needed to be blurred in photos — kids, some wives who didn’t want the hassle of publicity — and good to go. Al was filming and Vince swinging the mike for a documentary I’d agreed to let Caroline do, but she had a top-end still camera, and they’d set up LED floods that lit the upper end of the meadow. I added parameters about photos I wanted taking but not releasing or talking about to anyone until, and though Caroline gave me a look she didn’t demur. With everyone present, assorted guards holding the perimeter, I stood beside Adam and we ran through what was needed.

First up were pictures of everyone on two legs, pack only, pack and families, including Jesse, then friends — Brent, David and his crew, Dan and the Joes, Jill. Then the pain and fun began. Al and Vince cut recording, Adam gave permission, non-wolves gave space, turning backs, and wolves began to strip and change, including Brent and David, though Adam stayed on two legs. I knew changing squicked Caroline, and drew her with Jesse and kids to unload charcoal and grill, and lug cold boxes and bags of bread. Jill came to look, hefting and turning the grill as I took the cover off the stone firetrough and filled it with charcoal.

“You bet I want, Mercy, but not so big. It’s what, five foot six?”

“Eight. If I cook here it’s for thirty plus.”

“Plate for frying eggs?”

“Un huh. Some like them that way, but the shallow cup means I can scramble. British bacon also prefers the plate.”

“So would maize cakes.”

“Yup.”

I doused charcoal with accelerant, and Jill set the grill in place, admiring it, while I fished out matches. A glance told me most wolves were on four legs, shaking themselves, and we left the charcoal to bed down.

Second up were pictures of me, Adam, and Jesse with Joel on two legs and Lucia, surrounded by pack. Then Lucia dropped out, and Joel went to change, resuming his place in Presa Canario form. We added four-legged Brent and David as guests, and finally pack plus interspersed families for a human–wolf panorama. Wolves were inclined to gambol, and to keep a lid on things Adam demanded one maximally dignified shot in return for one where they could tongue-loll or goof, and from Caroline’s snorts there must be some good ones. Then Adam could change at last, pulling on me, and asking everyone to hold position I went to retrieve cloak and Manannán’s Bane, and called Al and Vince together with Caroline. I raised my voice so everyone could hear, and pulled up dominance.

“Caroline, Al, Vince, from here on we’re in _do not tell anyone_ territory, until you have my let. The Secret Service know, because it’s part of my security, but these are hole cards, and we need to keep them that way. And this applies to everyone. Alpha security command with fullest effect — not one word to anyone not here now, and only in certain privacy.”

I’d put weight into it, as had the cloak, and wolves nodded with humans. Caroline had shock in her eyes.

“Yowza, Mercy! You’re generating this … pressure?”

“Un huh. That’s amplified dominance, Caroline.”

Al swapped out his camera card, so secret stuff would be separate, and I thanked him. Lucia rested a hand on Joel’s head, scratching, and a moment later Adam emerged on four legs, shook himself, and headed for his place, giving a yip of impatience. Caroline blinked again.

“That was quick.”

“Yeah. I can lend a little speed, which is also not for blabbing.”

I went to stand by Adam, and Caroline did shots of me and Lucia amid pack, then me and Jesse, and finally me alone among wolves in petalled and feathered splendour, Manannán’s Bane preening in my hand.

“Jill?”

“I hope this clothing works the way it’s supposed to. I’m getting to like it.” She stepped away from Caroline. “Watch out for flying bra-halves.”

I had a split second to appreciate the bewilderment on Caroline’s face before Jill went grizzly with a fierce crackle of plastic snaps popping as clothes did indeed fly off, and it shifted to astonishment. Most humans looked the same way, but I was more interested in Jill, who swung her head, peering at bits of clothing, and went to look closely at one or two before standing on hind legs and doing a bearish shimmy that made me grin and more wolves than Adam drop jaws.

“Looks like the Hulk Reclothing Plan worked, Caroline. Jill is Bear’s daughter. Maybe you could pick up clothing while we re-arrange?”

“Uh … sure, Mercy.”

Wolves shifted to make room, and Jill waded through them, vast flanks swinging with a bear’s easy gait, to sit on my right while Presa Canario Joel was on Adam’s left, carefully positioned where grass had been scuffed aside to leave dry dirt. I told wolves to settle for a formal pose, giving it enough edge there was no delay, and faced Caroline, who’d stacked clothing-halves on the nearest hood and come back.

“A couple three like this, please, Caroline.”

She did them, and paused, looking a query.

“Joel, go room-temperature tibicena, please.”

He did, and his increased bulk became a good match for Jill, flanking Adam and me like heraldic creatures on the gateposts of those British stately homes. Caroline whistled appreciation, and snapped away.

“Thanks. These next ones need to be fast. You’ll see why. Joel?”

The tibicena became magmatic, with less sideways heat than I’d expected, and I realised he’d darkened his flanks, letting more heat radiate from back, chest, and muzzle. Caroline, and many people, had seen the tibicena, but not its magmatic aspect, and only professionalism had her swinging the camera up, fiddling settings to allow for brightness.

“Thanks again. Jill?”

She shifted sideways a few feet, wolves re-arranging themselves.

“Thanks, Jill. And swiftly again, please, Caroline.”

With the thought Skuffles was beside me, filling the gap, and I swallowed a laugh as I saw she’d groomed her glamour, or talked Irpa into brushing her down. Dried-blood flanks and head gleamed, skulls had burnished pates and teeth, roses were dewy, and the cloak gusted fragrance. Caroline stared and swung the camera up, clicking away.

“Alright. Nearly done, everyone. One goofy set and you can go hunt.”

It was a release for wolves and a challenge for Joel, magma not doing goofy, but he let a fiery tongue loll. Jill sat on her haunches, front paws turned up, and after a last volley of clicks Caroline lowered the camera.

“Done.”

“Excellent, thanks, and good hunting, everyone.”

Wolves swirled, growling excitement, Adam sent a kiss through our bond before heading out, wolves following, Al tracking them into darkness while Joel, back to Presa Canario, headed for privacy to change. I needed to get to the grill, where spouses were unpacking cold boxes, but Jill nudged me, and used a claw to write in the baked dirt where Joel had been, BACK IN 5, before heading into the pines. Caroline, wonder on her face as professionalism ceased to be needed, looked down.

“Amazing.”

“You think? Bears do shit in the woods, I’d guess.”

Skuffles yipped amusement and Caroline trailed us as we headed for the grill, splutter dissolving into a laugh.

“Of course they do, Mercy. That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it. Those are some hole-cards.”

“Yup. But I don’t want to talk about it. Nor does Skuffles. We will when it breaks, but not now. And make documentary coverage intermittent from here on? Get cooking and eating shots, whatever, but give people space to talk without being recorded, please.”

“Of course. But …”

“But?”

“There’s a bigger threat than fruitcakes? Wednesday?”

She’d was a friend and had been scrupulous, so I swallowed a retort.

“There are all sorts of threats, Caroline. But yeah, we are being hypercareful for good reasons, and that is all I’m saying tonight.”

“I get that, Mercy. Skuffles can talk?”

_I can, Caroline Taylor, and do, but not about this, now._

Her jaw dropped and she couldn’t not be curious, but there was worry too, though she did accept my — our — silence. The bustle as burgers, dogs, sausages, and corn were laid on bars, falafels on crosshatch, was a distraction, and when others wanted to tend them I started piecing together Jill’s clothing. Jesse and Lucia helped, examining seams with thoughtful looks, Skuffles watched, and kids banished from the grill came to see. When Al called out he was done filming for now, though there would be another clip once food was served, I fielded questions, pleased by pragmatic acceptance of bear avatars and problem-solving designs, and when Jill came back I took the chance to give an impromptu lesson on grizzly speed and power, and why, if you did meet one, running away was not a good option. Jill was amused, if better pleased when Jesse carried the reassembled clothing to a space shielded by the KEPR van. I realised David’s crew were hanging back, with Dan and the Joes, talking to the senior Secret Service guy and SEAL Lieutenant, and after extending my magic carefully I went over, Skuffles tagging along.

“Agent, Lieutenant, all well?”

“Far as we’re aware, ma’am.”

“Good. Nothing Skuffles or I can sense magically either, so I doubt there’s any vamp threat tonight. Belts and braces, I know, but be aware there’s food for your people, if you care to rotate them in.”

“You’re feeding us, ma’am?”

“Surely, Agent. Six of you and ten SEALs. Believe me, sixteen extra burgers and buns was not a problem, and there are veggie ones if anyone prefers. And JJ, Dan, you guys need to come eat too.”

There was shuffling but I bulled though the magic-shock, and as food started to flow off the grill, to kiddos and everyone, Jesse and Jill happily adding charcoal and reloading it, the first agents and pair of SEALs did come by. They made appreciation clear and I acknowledged it, more interested in chowing down. Falafels and corn followed a burger, and I had room for a sausage or three, washed down with one beer. Replete, but seeing kiddos demonstrating hollow legs, I found the senior agent and Lieutenant beside me with bulging burgers.

“Your courtesy is appreciated, ma’am. Neither the Looey nor I are used to principals who worry about us the way you do.”

“You’re welcome. It’s what Alphas do.”

“Huh. But we had a few questions, ma’am, if you’re willing.”

“Shoot.”

No, there was no limit to how long Joel could stay magmatic, save that he would soon set more or less anything except earth or stone on fire, and yes, I could go coyote as fast as Jill went bear, while Skuffles was never more than a thought away if I had the cloak. She showed off dentition and speed, and when Jesse joined us, to lean against me with full-belly torpor, added thoughtfully that the only thing that might pull her away from defending me was a threat to Jesse or Adam. My definition of threat wasn’t the same as theirs — Adam would survive lead, and any non-silver blade, but Jesse wouldn’t — and we kicked that around until Caroline came over with a laptop and gave us a slideshow.

The goofy shots were a hoot, and our pack Christmas-Card problem had been solved early, but the dignified ones were good, and Jesse and I knew at once which we wanted to use first. She stood between Adam on four legs and me on two, head high but relaxed, and around us the pack and Joel’s Presa Canario stood straight, looking directly at the camera, eyes gleaming yellow and teeth white. Caroline looked at us soberly.

“It’ll do what you want, Mercy, and the warning is clear. But that shot alone is worth a small fortune.”

“And Andrea can realise that, with the earlier full group shot to follow. Ten percent to you, the rest to Jesse’s college fund and security costs. The same on others when it becomes possible. Oh, and a cut to Jill.”

She was reluctant, not feeling entitled to what would be a hefty bonus, but I’d had that argument with Andrea, and Caroline could give the money away if she wanted. The agent and Lieutenant listened, nodding approval when it ended with my pocketing the still and video cards with restricted material. When Caroline took her laptop to show others they had questions about my intentions with the ones I was holding back, having realised I wanted the variants because I didn’t know what forms might be revealed when whatever happened.

“We’re more used to thinking threat, decision-tree, shot if necessary, than what to do if the threat laughs off being shot.” The agent shook his head. “But the escalations you have available, ma’am, are very comforting. Mr Arocha is back-up on hypergolics? They’re trying but it’s tricky.”

“Joel got a much bigger chunk of Guayota’s magic than me, including the magmatic aspect, so yeah, he can do sudden heat transfer. Hang on.”

I hadn’t been following the hunt, because it reminded me how much I’d rather have gone with them, but I knew when stalking exploded into chase, feeling Adam’s satisfaction, and a moment later triumphant howls echoed down valley.

“They’ve made clean kills. An old buck and a doe past bearing. Adam will bring them back within the hour. We’ll be on the road again within two.”

“The pack judges prey ecologically?”

“Always. All packs do. The Marrok orders it, but most would do it anyway. Fawns and yearlings are fair prey, however that seems, but mid-life does are not, and only a senile wolf would take one carrying. We’ll want to hunt next month, next decade. Sustainability is all.”

“Makes sense, ma’am. And you do a lot more of that than I was expecting, despite AED Westfield’s briefing. A whole lot more.”

“I try.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty-Two**

Mornings after hunts were among the few times Adam liked to sleep in, but with a brisk kill and everything that was happening we were up at dawn. Time differences were helpful for once, because the AED was already at his desk, and had news we needed, which was better than it might have been. Seventeen vamps had been apprehended trying to cross into Canada or Mexico, and no less than five seethes, Mid-Western and Eastern, had been prevented from decamping with property. Three smaller ones had been forced by heavy fae presence to back down without loss of unlife, but the larger two had not taken it well. There were human injuries, mostly broken bones and concussion from being thrown aside, but nothing worse, though there had been eleven dismissals by Glock. Efforts had been made, but whether those had been observed by other vamps was uncertain — though Wulfe had, the AED thought, seemed surprised by the casualty ratio when he’d finally called back, less because of my email than because he’d had some awareness of multiple dismissals.

“I find him hard to read, Ms Hauptman, but I think he genuinely has been busy, not just ducking my call. He looked tired, and said your, I quote, unexpected means and potency of response made dominoes fall faster than he’d been prepared for. Would you trust that?”

“Some, AED. Magma and a midnight sun are things to make vamps panic, and the financial pressure and Italian news won’t have helped. And though I have no idea how he’s setting about it, I think there’d be a gap between getting a vamp or seethe to accept registration in principle, and being able to use them as enforcers. Did he say anything about Marsilia, Stefan, or Thomas Hao?”

“Only that they were busy too, but might be able to get round to helping with enforcement next week.”

“They’re waiting on Bonarata’s next move. Can’t blame them, when he translocates and knows where they are.”

“That was my take, but I’ll go on pushing Wulfe, and please add your weight, as you can. We’re keeping a lid on news, but it can’t be for very long, especially if there are further incidents.”

“There might not be. Full moon is one thing, and they saw opportunity, but as news of alliance power spreads they’ll have plenty of lemon to suck on. If nothing happens Friday the international stuff will blow in any case, but if you can keep that lid on this week I’d be grateful. And there will be other distractions.”

“Indeed.” He half-smiled. “The President relayed the highlights of your conversation, and we’ll do what we can, but …”

He waggled a hand, and I nodded.

“I know, AED, but keep on keeping on, while we can, and there’s a better chance it’ll be alright on the night. I hope.”

“Mmm. Do you know why yet?”

“Not really, except that with magic concentration is usually better than dispersal, and a lot of this is about synergies.”

He shook his head. “I should have quit while I was ahead, but I’ll take your word for it. Good luck today with stunning the nation yet again.”

He rang off before I could stick my tongue out, but it made Adam grin. He was pleased with the photos, and the goofy ones gave him a genuine kick, though Jesse dropping anonymity — and having to make such a decision — weighed on us both. Andrea was even happier with the one I sent her, and called to tell us Frank and Rachel, if still shaken, had handled things well, letting a TV crew interview them in their beautiful garden under a clear and very full moon. Frank had spoken directly of his would-be assailant, identified as Arlo Kenton, 52, Anglo, of suburban Baltimore and a string of rehab centres, wishing him well with another round of detox and segueing to the need for a comprehensive drugs policy.

<Dad got in an excellent line about accountability and accountants as well, Mercy. But _me, a wolf? Pull the other one_ came through loud and clear.> There was love in her voice. <He said he was proud to be human, as well as delighted to have preternatural friends. And Mom said while she really liked the wolves she knew she was happy not to have a moonbound husband. This image — and I can hear photodesks drooling — will make a really good one-two.>

While she set about droolers and their bottomless pockets I used the encrypted system to send the image and selected others to Bran, Charles, and Anna, and sat back with chocolate to compose an email to a new list Mary had compiled, and an update to registered supporters. As expected it wasn’t long before the system announced incoming, and I found all three on screen, Anna and Charles so poker-faced they had to be laughing and Bran looking at me with some weight.

“Mercy.”

“Hi Bran, Charles, Anna. Good hunt, I hope? Ours was. And I thought the goofy shot could make a fine presidential Christmas card.”

Charles was biting his cheek, and a snort escaped Anna. Bran ignored them, but sighed.

“I dare say it will, Mercy, yes, it was, and the shot you are releasing is very useful. So is the one of the pack with human kin, and I will talk to Alphas about following suit, so thank you for that. Then again, I was surprised my most urgent business in the hours before a full moon was printing out full-colour copies of James Audubon’s many ducks.”

“Did Skuffles say it was urgent?”

“Not in so many words, Mercy. She did however say that with Underhill, one was best advised not to delay anything, and the secret of good comedy is timing.”

“Un huh. And your point is?”

“I was not unbusy.”

“Nor was Skuffles. And I bet she wanted to take the book for Underhill to see, but you jibbed. And told Colin to take care of it.”

“He was not unbusy, either.”

“And your point is? Take it up with Skuffles if you must, Bran. I asked Nuthatch to make the entry in Uncle Mike’s Book of Wagers, he asked Skuffles for escort, and when they met Underhill coming back through the Garden of Manannán’s Death Skuffles ran with it productively. I did mention your Audubon when she told me Underhill was researching duck-shapes, but how many people with complete editions do I know? I’m hardly going to recommend inferior ducks to Underhill.”

There was a pause.

“That is regrettably unarguable, Mercy. But you have comprehensively blindsided the Gray Lords.”

“Have I? That’s down to Underhill, Bran, and she gets the point.”

“And that point is?”

I grinned. “Does a good joke need explaining? Underhill would have gone for a tenanted duckpond if ducks would thrive, to whack at Manannán, and it’s also an apology for the statue. But I take it there was vested interest in one or more of the suggestions that didn’t ring Underhill’s bell.”

“There was. Such a triadic completion has great magical potential. As you know full well, having appropriated it for your own ends.”

“Preventing its appropriation by anyone else, most of whom have no rights in this. And honoured the second name, of Underhill’s choosing, which honoured the first, of mine. I had the right, Bran, and the power. Their problem if they counted on my not using it. Who’s unhappy?”

“Unhappy is not the word, Mercy. Try shocked, and in most cases baffled by your speed in this, and Underhill’s immediate response.”

“The exceptions being?”

“Ap Lugh and The Dagda. And your trio of trolls, who The Dagda said all thought it hilarious.”

“It’s about size, so The Dagda and trolls have an inside track.”

There was another pause, broken when Charles cracked and let a wide, wide smile show.

“Give it up, Da. They’re just unused to shock. Call it useful practice.”

Anna snickered, and Bran glared at her without obvious effect.

“For you too, Bran. Mercy, it binds the triadic magic?”

“Should do, Anna. Takes it down and back in, however Underhill manages the plumbing. I have no idea what properties the triad might acquire, but leaving the third name up for grabs was not an option. Way too big a hostage to fortune.”

“Right. It’ll be fun finding out, and meantime, attacoyote. Bran’s just grumpy because Skuffles is quite intimidating when she’s being … enthusiastic.”

I looked at Bran, eyebrows climbing. “You find Skuffles intimidating? That’s a first.”

“Intimidating is not the word either, Mercy, but Skuffles is … hard to ignore. And persistent.”

“Your immunity to dominance in such a large canid form gives Da hives, Mercy.” Charles grinned. “He’ll get over it, and we all appreciate the need to pre-empt any fae on this. So does ap Lugh, who _was_ surprised, but admiring. They were after our take as much as grumbling among themselves, but because they had to wait out the hunt they’d raised a little steam about coyote jokes.”

“ _Amour propre_ and dignity and fae rights?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then I hope you all whacked them with a stick. That was Manannán’s problem with fountains as well as me, and look at him now. They should ask Underhill for her take before they worry about anyone else’s.”

“Ah.” Bran looked thoughtful. “You … lent Underhill your accuracy?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, Bran, but you could say. I just needed bathos to rein in what Underhill was creating as it gathered power in my image and name.” A thought clicked. “But Manannán was a Gray Lord, and I did send things every kind of sideways, so they were in line on their own accounts as well as anyone susceptible to absurdly heroic statuary, the humourless, and the linear.”

Bran thought about it. “Coyote sense, then, not just humour. Alright. Avoiding full moon next time you wish to slap at Gray Lords would be good.”

“Timing wasn’t my call, Bran, but I’ll bear it in mind. And Underhill did the slapping. I grant affronting those with greedy eyes, but exercising my right is, or should be, no offence to them, and anyone who feels otherwise should think long and hard about what assumptions they’re making. Vetoes on what I do by right are in short supply outside statute law, Underhill as Overhill.”

“That point I had taken, Mercy, but you have enough scheduled surprises you do not need to add impromptu ones.”

“Depends, Bran, and I did need. I’m sorry about bad timing, and yeah, Skuffles was a bit bumptious, I imagine, but lying low is very dull for her. And we should get an Underhill Audubon duckpond out of it, which I bet you’ll like.”

I left Charles and Anna laughing, and Bran resting his head on his hands. I wasn’t unduly worried — grumpy Gray Lords straight after a hunt were enough to give anyone a fit of Marrokery — but did call Zee and Ariana, who both thought my duckpond wise and funny, which pleased me, and Irpa, who really did find it hilarious.

<It’s beyond perfect, Mercy. And using the Book of Wagers was a fine touch. Trolls don’t do commanding humility, but it’s good to see.>

I wasn’t touching that, but did ask about the other eighty-six entries, and she laughed.

<Don’t worry about sore losers. They’ll get over it soon enough.>

Fae soons and enoughs being variable I also called ap Lugh, who gave me a long-suffering look.

“Mercedes. Is all well?”

“You tell me, Gwyn ap Lugh. I’ve just had Bran bristling at me about blindsiding Gray Lords.”

“Ah. Blindsiding is a little strong but your speed was not anticipated by many, nor Underhill’s in accepting your decision. Nor the depth of your scorn for what the late and mostly unlamented Manannán mac Lír believed his own heroics.”

“I’ve never liked bullies, Gwyn ap Lugh. And I hold him posthumously responsible for giant nude ice me, because however he worked through water and didn’t do clothes himself, anyone who grabs a naked woman from her shower deserves some scorn as well as punitive justice.”

“I have no argument, Mercedes. And however this stings those who would have liked another outcome, it is the same lesson in another key.”

I wondered what he thought that lesson was, but I wasn’t asking.

“A lesson from Underhill also, as you might remind any … lingering mourners.”

“I already have, Mercedes. They grumbled to Bran Cornick because they dare not grumble to me any more, nor you.”

I raised eyebrows. “They’ve got odd criteria for threat evaluation, then. Tolerance is not Bran’s strongest suit.”

“And so they have discovered. Fae do not get fleas, but a human might say they have several in each ear. It is not a problem, and this too shall pass.” I nodded. “What will not is your triad. Really, Mercedes Elf-friend, the Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility? Either half of that would be bad enough, and together they are … I do not believe there is a word in any language I know.”

“Are they, Gwyn ap Lugh? How about apt?”

“The absurdity is … raw.”

“It’ll weather.”

“Is that our favourite coyote-girl I hear?” Edythe skipped into view, yo-yo twirling. “Underhill is pleased with you again, as am I. It is positively unnatural. She’s also taken with John James Audubon, and wishes us to obtain a complete edition. Do you have any idea how much those cost?”

“Hello, Edythe, and yes, I do. I doubt you’re short of money, but by all means take it from the Borrowed Warchest, and call it a keepsake of shining Overhill where all those nice birds live.”

She laughed, and ap Lugh’s mouth twitched.

“I am not sure about a keepsake, but Underhill will like the courtesy, and the book. She is currently considering the strange posture of the fighting male Eiders, but will devise her own … plumage-scheme.”

I knew that plate, and grinned. “Good to know, Edythe. It should be just the one duck-shape, though, whatever the posture. The middle-object is already a double.”

“So we realised discussing it.” Her voice became slyer. “But despite all the circles, the number of ducks you can hit with one row seems to have no limit.”

“Good one, Edythe, though I’m sure it’s an illusion. And a duck in the pond is worth two at a push.” Her eyes glinted. “But if there really isn’t a problem, Bran’s disgruntlement notwithstanding, I should be about it and leave you to rustle up an Audubon.”

“The grumblers annoyed Bran Cornick enough that he annoyed you?”

“More or less, Edythe, though to be fair Skuffles wanting to take _his_ Audubon Underhill just before full moon played in. Charles and Anna weren’t so bothered.”

She pealed silver laughter. “Oh I _do_ like Skuffles. Shall I ask Bran Cornick for advice on which available copy of Audubon to choose?”

I grinned. “If he’s not too busy. He loves that book. Check with Charles? I didn’t mean to tweak Bran’s tail — that was Skuffles — and I wouldn’t compound the tease.”

She agreed, and I got back to the email to voters. I’d done policy highlights for the Columbia Basin, trailing reforestation, what would be happening with Celilo Falls, and the next stage of the Restoration when the John Day, McNary, Priest Rapids, and Wanapum Dams on the Columbia came down, with the Ice Harbour, Lower Monumental, and Little Goose Dams-and-Locks on the Snake. A snarky line about my rivals’ unwillingness to debate gave it some zest, and I made the final part about Jesse’s intranet, her decision to sacrifice anonymity, and the photo that would answer and ask many questions.

_It’s Jesse with Adam and me amid the pack, before Adam took them hunting last night, and if any of you know Dim Future types, ask them why they ever thought she needed rescuing from wolves. Though she isn’t pack she is Adam’s daughter, mine by marriage and mating, and to her the pack is not any kind of threat but a very potent guard, every one of whom would fight to the death for her. You could think of it as forty-two godparents, all with serious teeth._

_But despite a visceral urge to protect her, Adam, and I, and all the pack, are willing and proud that she step forward and formally shoulder what she finds to be her duty. She’s months shy of legal maturity, but no longer a kiddo or ex-kiddo. She’s an adult, already wiser than many. Ask your own kiddos and ex-kiddos. And please watch for the photo and the start of clips from that intranet tomorrow — there will be other news headlining, but they will be well worth your time and attention. Promise._

_Be safe and well, everyone._

I read it over, and as Jesse should be on a break fired it off to her, Adam, Andrea, and Jenny, requesting speedy approval or correction, and headed for the kitchen. The brownie tin always needed replenishing, and before that was done I had my approvals and sent the OK to Andrea to send it. Then lunch beckoned. Yoke’s had a new line in peppered steak slices that Auriele said had some zing, and I’d kept a dozen back from the freezer. David, Connor, and Vinnie were on Jesse at school, reinforcing Dan and the Joes, but JJ, Travis, and Linc were here, with Jill and Brent, so when Caroline, Penny, and crews arrived I put the lot in the oven and intercepted them before they could start to set-up in the Den.

“Not today, guys. I have a statement, but so does Medicine Wolf, so we need to be out front. Yoke’s steak slices for lunch in fifteen.”

Penny recovered first. “Medicine Wolf has a statement? What about?”

Another wait-and-see as they trailed me to the kitchen was tempting, but uncalled for. Then again, fun was fun.

“You might want to be sitting down.”

“Oh Lord, what now?” Penny dropped into a chair, others following. “Is there a problem? Cascadia?”

I served coffee and sat myself. “No problem, Penny. It’s just that Medicine Wolf’s neighbour of the Mississippi Basin has decided it wants a word about this and that. I’ll be obliging it in St Louis on Friday, before the debate, if there is one. Or my solo show, if there isn’t.”

“Say what?” Al looked at the cup in his hand, and back at me. “Did you say the Mississippi Basin _wants a word_ ?”

“Yup. Its great manitou, anyway. And several words, I’d think. ‘Pollution’, ‘levees’, and ‘Oy! Stop that!’ for starters.”

Caroline’s stare became a laugh. “A second great manitou? The Mississippi Basin covers … how many states?”

“Thirty-two. Michigan’s marginal but both peninsulas sneak in, which is neat. And two Canadian provinces.”

“Un huh.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you knew about this before the National Committees tried their Columbia Basin exception, didn’t you?”

“By a few days. Not my fault they forgot to check on manitous coming out.”

“Of course it isn’t. But you decided on today. And my God, Friday!” She was back to staring. “If you invite your rivals … they’ll _have_ to come, even knowing they’ll be marginalised before a global audience.”

“Could be. And that is my fault.” I grinned. “Just not my problem.”

Getting killed would be, and there might be any amount of other fallout, but so it goes. The arrival of Jill, Brent, and David’s half-crew kept comments down, and so did steak slices when I dished them. Zing was right, with something behind pepper I couldn’t identify but involved vinegar and had some heat of its own, and much tastier meat than mass-produced ever managed. But with coffee questions started again, and as I wouldn’t pre-empt Medicine Wolf they stayed with the mousetrap I’d built for my opponents. After the sorry show in DC I’d been sufficiently irritated to angle for the political bonus, and that they were _still_ dithering about attending upped it nicely. Demolition of the Columbia exceptionalism the main parties had tried was a given, but the secret of good comedy really was timing, and it was playing into my hands. I could have done some crowing, but there were those other contingencies about Friday, a weight I was ignoring, and silent practice at looking wise was good too.

Besides, their collective analysis was interesting. Penny and Caroline were clear the dither was paralysis, induced partly by no-one having been geared-up for TV debates, with their desperately pre-planned mix of coaching and focus opinion-polling, partly by the continuing indecision of National Committees about their positions and the gubernatorial lawsuit. There had been some of the ‘briefing off the record’ Beltway types use, indicating personal desires to debate waiting on party loyalty and the need to present a united front to outrageous challenge, but no-one had said anything substantive. And National Committees were deadlocked by absent leaders, fighting growing fires in home bases and leaving stubborn, bewildered old Eastern and Southern majorities to glare and fume at increasingly vociferous Western minorities with younger wings and minority ethnic blocks behind them. Labour and business interests were split, more by ecology and jobs than anything preternatural, and the gains SAGE had made at the expense of the NRA had sent shock waves through all sorts of funding structures, in any case finding donations sharply down. Adam had said clients were taking the idea of my winning seriously, and so, it seemed, were some of the ultra-wealthy bankrollers, because backing both horses in a two-horse race made less sense if both were already half-nobbled. PACs were pushing funds and lobbies that stood to lose domestically — Big Oil, Corn, and Pharma — were shouting at anyone they could, but those with more international concerns were on the fence, unclear what kind of news I was.

“You have them reeling, Mercy, and now you’ll have them under the cosh. Or do I mean on the ropes?”

“Either will do, Penny. They’re looking as cooked as Cantrip.”

“Un huh, Caroline. Cantrip was rotten meat, and I don’t think that’s the problem here. Try two stags so locked in combat over who owns the central reservation they didn’t notice the semi coming until its airhorn went off way too close. Deer in the headlights.”

“Dibs on that.”

I laughed. “You can both have it, Penny, and welcome. The party system started when the British parliament took power from royalty, and you had to have an orderly way of getting legislation through. Same for us after the War of Independence. Well and good. But parties institutionalised themselves, developing inertia and self-interests. Now they assume the federal executive and legislature, and all states’, are theirs by right, whoever’s on top this term. It’s another interrogative. A or B. B or A. So now they’re all going, _there’s a C?_ ” There was laughter. “Yup, but how C will work is a big question. Core policies, sure. But anything else will be interesting. How like the old-style parties will we find we have to be to get things done? Or what better ways can we find, with magic and technology? Questions, questions.”

“Which you need before you can get answers.” Dwayne shrugged. “I heard what you said about parties needing to rebuild, not just clean house, but you’re poaching their activists through the green vote and SAGE.”

“Can’t be helped. And” — I took out my phone and did some tapping — “I’m about to poach most of their governors too. Thirty-seven and three Canadian premiers are now on Mississippi manitou notice for Friday, so it’s time to set up.”

The Secret Service would have been happier if I’d chosen the garden, but it wasn’t what I wanted, so we headed down to the oak grove. It could shimmer unphotographably behind us, and with the earth fae’s attention what had been scrubland looked more like well-tended lawn, flowers blooming along eaves and the line of the creek. There was also the stretch of Columbia down which Medicine Wolf could trot, timing it so that as cameras went live they could track it in. Courteous as always, it greeted everyone, and while Caroline explained it had a statement to make, upon which mine was contingent, settled beside me, front paws extended. Cameras shifted so Al had me in tight focus and Dwayne, further back, had more than Medicine Wolf’s nose on screen.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I expect you’ll recall how this works. For this first part, the words I speak will not be mine, but Medicine Wolf’s. It will pause to let me articulate them. Ms Taylor, Ms Ligatt, and their crews will be hearing directly, mind to mind, as will others here, but I’ll be making its words audible, starting now.”

_Thank you, Mercy. I have something to tell everyone, but there is a context. – I am of my territory, the land of the river, and of nowhere else. – I have absolute knowledge of myself, but beyond myself I know only through report, or those with wider knowledge who allow me to read them. – Humans and most kinds of magical creature have been helpful in this, and it allows me to understand your wider society and cultures – and how those matter to beings who dwell within my territory. – But I also have neighbours, others of my kind that you call great manitous, and I have been speaking to them._

A light breeze ruffled the Columbia, fluttering the cloak and Gordon’s feather. Skuffles would have told me she heard pins dropping.

_The great manitou of the Colorado Basin is very withdrawn and unhappy – because of damage your dams and water extraction inflict. – I have encouraged it to consider co-operation – the Path of Mercy I find helpful and interesting – and it is thinking about it – but I strongly urge you to offer it more than a gesture or token improvement – and soon. – You truly do not want it to decide unilateral action is the necessary answer._

How much good it would do was moot, but we could try.

_The better news is that my other neighbour, of the Mississippi Basin, is very interested in the Path of Mercy. – It likes to be useful, as I do, and is happy bearing boats – but as unhappy as I am with your careless and deliberate pollution of lands and waters. – It affects us and our waters harm life they should sustain, and the seas to which we deliver them. – This is not acceptable – so my neighbour wishes to talk to those of you who live within its territory – and asked me to ask Mercy to arrange it. – I did, and she has. – That is all._

I knew Medicine Wolf was amused by dropping me in it so bluntly, but cocked its head as I gave it a fisheye and turned back to the camera.

“Or not, by a distance. This is me again, everyone, Mercy Hauptman, and you heard Medicine Wolf, to whom we all owe a large debt of thanks.” I turned as it leaned its great head down, and reached out to stroke the warm muzzle. “I said we lucked out with you, and we really did.” I turned back to the camera. “And now other great manitous are taking note, so we need to up our game, fast. Folks on the Lower Colorado, I do understand what drives your water extraction, but it _has_ to come down. It’s killing the river, which does not mean killing the manitou, just annoying the hell out of it, literally. Understand that _unilateral action_ by a great manitou means anything from bringing down dams to triggering any earthquake or vulcanism in reach, and who knows what else? Let’s _not_ go that way, hey? And we have a more immediate opportunity to start putting more of the nation, and planet, back to rights. A big chunk more.”

I’d thought about a map, but Wiki was only ever a click away.

“Forgive me if you know this, but the Mississippi Basin is seriously big. Great manitous don’t do tributaries, so we’re talking the whole watershed, with the Missouri, Ohio, and the rest — Twin Cities to New Orleans and Denver to Pittsburgh. Thirty-two states are wholly or partly within the Mississippi Basin — alphabetically, that’s Alabama, Arkansas, Colorado, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maryland, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, West Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming — and add the Canadian provinces of Alberta and Saskatchewan. I repeat, seriously big.”

Learning the alphabetical list had taken effort, but the hopscotching with News, Norths, and Souths was worth it.

“And, understandably, its great manitou is not so happy with humans because we dump tens of millions of tons of nitrates, sewage, oil, and other pollutants into it, which poison everything up to and including the Gulf of Mexico. But, very luckily for us, it is willing to talk. And even better, it wants a deal involving _much_ better pollution control in return for its help with significantly better flood control.”

I let it sink in for a moment.

“Forgive me again if you already see this, but that is a Very Big Deal. The Mississippi does not have the vertical fall of the Columbia, but it has enormous volume, and when that gets past St Louis and most of it’s in the main channel, telling it not to go anywhere it feels like going is not simple. Try making a major avalanche lane drive. Our current best tech for trying is called levees, and you know what happens to them, often enough, after which a _lot_ of people are in a _lot_ of trouble. Even a great manitou cannot alter basic topography, and water goes downhill, so when there’s snowmelt or heavy rain anywhere in the Mississippi Basin that water is going downstream, and there will still be times it crests, and threatens levees, but how much easier is it going to be to combat that _with the river on our side?_ D’oh. So while there will be people who’ll say I should have waited, and I’m taking electoral advantage, I thought this one needed to be fast-tracked, not only because asking a great manitou to wait out the electoral cycle is really not sensible.”

I dusted my hands and Medicine Wolf nodded.

“Now, as I’ll be in St Louis Friday, and so will the Mississippi main stem, I thought we could start the ball rolling, by that nice arch they have. I have invited the governors of the thirty-two states, and the premiers of Alberta and Saskatchewan, to come be introduced to the great manitou of the river system they all more or less depend on, which has provisionally accepted the name Ol’ Manitou River.” I couldn’t help my grin and didn’t want to. “Who could resist? Anyway, I expect most of those governors are a bit taken aback, but you needn’t fret, ladies and gentlemen, because two among you, Wyoming and Montana, with the premier of Alberta, already have very positive experience of basin-state co-operation with a great manitou. Those states are also partly in the Columbia Basin, which has had a Manitou Working Group for nearly eighteen months, so I’ve also invited other members, Idaho, Nevada, Oregon, Utah, and Washington, with the premier of British Columbia. They will advise and support manitou newbies. The President has prior commitments that day, but will be in St Louis Saturday to offer Ol’ Manitou River personal greetings, and while I will not pre-empt anything he may then have to say, I know federal support for a Mississippi Basin group will be forthcoming. It’s plain major conferences will be needed, with Ol’ Manitou River, scientists of many sorts, governors, the Army Corps of Engineers, and major river users, so I’ll also ask the Chancellor of WashU to talk to the Governor of Missouri, and host some big geophys and hydro-engineering pow-wows soon.”

I offered a sunny smile.

“So relax, ladies and gentlemen. It’s a surprise, but also the other shoe dropping at last. You’re not on your own — anything but, as there are thirty-three of you. And it occurs to me, being a helpful coyote, that this unexpected meeting of thirty-seven basin-state governors will offer you all a splendid chance to talk about the very unhappy pickle of their own silly making those National Committees of yours are now in. You’re all welcome to attend the evening’s debate — or monologue — but I’ll understand if you feel the time better spent elsewhere. The morning will be free, and there’s always next day, but do please all think about it hard. The silence is getting deafening. In any case, I’ll see you all, I hope, 2 p.m. Friday, before the Gateway to the West, and we can make a start on Comparative Manitou Studies 101. Oh, and my rivals are welcome, though I shall take a very dim view of any who come for the manitou but skip the debate.”

Off-camera, Penny was going an interesting colour. Medicine Wolf dropped its jaw in a wolf-laugh.

“And two last things, because plainly this business is way bigger than anyone’s campaign, and it’s not going to stop in November. It has more pieces than a jigsaw — not just levees and fertilisers, but riparian protection zones, power generation, reforestation, civil engineering, dredging and dams, fishing and farming, river freight, carbon footprints, you name it. Steel in Pittsburgh, corn in Iowa, cows in Montana, rice in Louisiana, you’re all affected, and so is most everything. And you know what that makes this, besides an almighty logistical headache for the President and whoever succeeds him? A golden opportunity. Ol’ Manitou River offers more than assistance, which with great manitous tends to involve making the impossible a _much_ smaller category. It also offers a focus, the river itself, as a skeleton for a better, greener, more sustainable economy, and less divided society. We _have_ to respond to it, and if we do so positively we can and will find solutions. Maybe Big Corn does have to accept getting smaller, and not using land where nitrate fertilisers by the ton are necessary, but it’s not about doing anyone down, it’s about sustainability and not ripping through dwindling resources, so time to big up, Big Corn, and pay your bills falling due. Big Steel, your country needs you, but it doesn’t need you skimping on discharge control, by air and water, and heavy industry needs to be as modern as we are, so you need to big up too. And all of that means looking after the people who do the work and make those big boys so big — the farmers and steelworkers, and all of you. Will jobs go or change? Oh yeah. Will you be left in the green lurch? Not if I have anything to do with it, and you should all tell your governors and state and federal representatives they’d best be on the ball as well.”

I smiled again, before letting it fade.

“Further along that road would take me towards open campaigning, and a manitou is beyond that. I would and will be doing this anyway, never mind November. But there is one more thing to say, and maybe for you it speaks to character. When I first heard this news, and began to think it through, there was the sheer scale, but then there was all the history. There were a lot of First People in the Mississippi Basin before Second People came, all the cultures of Plains Amerindians and more. There still are, however diminished by what slid into attempted genocide, and all but exterminated bison. It took the US a while to swallow all the land, heading westward with a sense of Manifest Destiny, and it would have been longer if the California gold rush hadn’t made for leap-frogging. The Milk, Yellowstone, Bighorn, Cheyenne, Platte, Arkansas, and Cimarron Rivers are all in there, and figure in enough stories. But so is the Ohio with the flatboat round, Pittsburgh to New Orleans, and riding back along the Natchez Trace. And _then_ there’s the history with just as much weight as all that water, that I can evoke in four words — slavery, Delta Blues, Chicago.”

I took a deep breath.

“Yes, that one, the reason Paul Robeson sang ‘Ol’ Man River’, the one we don’t do so well talking about. But then, we don’t do so well talking about slaughtering First People either. Nor bison. It’s so much easier not thinking about historical crimes and inherited guilts. And Ol’ Man River just kept rolling right along, so hey, I’m all right, Jack. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t absolve myself. Humans are good at shrugging and carrying on, and so are coyotes. But Ol’ Manitou River just sat right up, and is saying, _you know, this really can’t keep rolling along the way it is. We need to fix it._ And we do. It isn’t my business to speak for anyone else in this, and I don’t — not other First People, and certainly not African-American citizens and communities of the Mississippi Basin or anywhere else — but I hope they’ll speak for themselves, and I ask you all, each and every US citizen, to think about what the Mississippi, the Ol’ Man River we thought we knew, means to you, to us, and what Ol’ Manitou River might mean now, and come to mean.” I gave one last coyote smile. “And as I’d very much like you all to think sideways as well as deep and wide, I’ll end by telling you it is a great manitou of colour, though I don’t yet know what colour. We’ll find out on Friday. Peace be with us all.”

Even if Caroline or Penny had coherent questions I wasn’t minded to play q.-and-a. yet, and they didn’t seem to want to cap anything, but did manage to say they’d be covering Friday live, and imagined distribution would be global, before wishing everyone a very thoughtful day. Live lights blinked off, and Medicine Wolf nudged me with that big nose.

_I believe I understand better now why humans have that phrase about playing people like fiddles. I wonder if Ol’ Manitou River would prefer one of those to a guitar?_


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty-Three**

By the time I got back inside the news cycle was wall-to-wall MANITOU TWO, TOO. Often literally. I also had a bulging inbox, governors being savvier and better staffed than National Committees, and despite grumbling about coercive offers everyone would be there. I sent all a package that listed major pollution sources and consequences, flood-control infrastructure, ecorecovery projects, and river freight in the Mississippi Basin, and could be jigged by state or river. It had a bunch of overviews with attitude — interactive maps, charts, and timelines showing violent deaths and migration of First People, African Americans, and bison, by year and decade since 1800, matching the spread of Second People, measured by population density and constitutional status as territories or states. And I’d tacked on oral history recordings, mostly Comanche, that laid out some of the worst things. When Caroline, Penny, and the crews came to say goodbye I offered them coffee and sat with them at the kitchen table.

“I would very much like an unannounced transmission-delay on Friday. A few seconds will do, but unannounced is critical. I can’t say why. Deal breaker. So if you won’t, or can’t, OK. But if you can, please do.”

Penny and Caroline looked at one another, and Al shifted in his seat.

“I can put a delay on the camera, and Dwayne, but others will be filming, Mercy, and it would be noticed.”

“Even so, Al. I’m playing odds, but you’ll be the close-ups, and I won’t let any other crew inside the security perimeter, which will include all of Gateway Arch Park. Public with cameras, yes, but no other broadcast media. Adam wrangled it into security contracts because all of you are already vetted, and the Director of the Secret Service leaned on the governor and NPS when we made basic arrangements.”

Dwayne was frowning. “We’re embedded?”

“Only if you want, and not in the army’s sense. But you’re in my kitchen, and I’m unarmed, so yeah, you’re inside the perimeter. And while I cannot explain, I’ve told you all before about elevated risk. I’m a zone of it anyway, but even more so as a candidate.”

“You think someone’s gonna —”

“Don’t go there, Al. I just want a three-second delay that no-one watching knows about.”

“You have a specific threat?”

“Al, I have _lots_ of specific threats, including whoever was responsible for those five bullets. You saw a chunk of my security last night, and there will be more on the ground. It all steepens the gradient whoever has to climb to get in. So will a transmission delay _not_ known to viewers.”

Al and Dwayne were looking at one another.

“Al and I can do this, Penny. It’s just a tag on the data-store to lag output. And we vote yes.”

“Al?”

“Mercy wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter. We use lags all the time, and don’t announce it. Any two live feeds will have a slight variation anyway, and more the longer any satellite bounces. We all know it.”

“Yeah. Can you quantify the risk to us, Mercy?”

“How? I appreciate your priorities, but to the best of my knowledge no-one is likely to be aiming anything at any of you.”

“Except envious eyes. And we owe you.”

“No you don’t. Not a thing, any of you. You vote your consciences.”

Caroline blinked. “I was. And three seconds makes no odds to us.”

“Thank you all. There’ll be a security briefing Friday, before I arrive, and I’ll ask the Secret Service to make sure you’re all included. But forgive me, there’s a call I need to make that will doubtless have me foaming. I can’t not give Christy a heads-up about Jesse forgoing anonymity, and though I doubt it’ll stay private that conversation is _not_ going to leak first at my end.”

Caroline, Al, and Vince had met Christy and they all knew about Jesse, so they sympathised and took themselves off. I wasn’t actually going to call Christy until Jesse could be online, during an afternoon break forty minutes away, but messages were piling up. The Chancellor of WashU had spoken to Wazzu about manitou conferences but was finding the scale of Mississippi ones daunting. Columbia Basin governors had issued gleeful statements of support for colleagues who found themselves dropped right in it, and were beginning to feel the force of what the Pacific North-West leading might mean, with tart observations about geographical leverage as well as manitous of whatever colour. Bran and ap Lugh sent approvals I acknowledged, Coyote thought I should use the hashtag _#SeriouslyBig_ , and the Man had taken time to say the Army Corps of Engineers wanted me canonised and would attend any conference as well as accepting invitations to Friday. Would they let themselves be read? I sent back, and with fresh chocolate braced myself for the call I really didn’t want to make.

Adam had opted out, and Jesse was happier to lurk to begin with, so it was just Christy’s pout that came onscreen.

“What do you want?”

I had a flash of Marsilia. “Hi to you too, Christy. I don’t want anything except to give you a heads-up, in courtesy, as Jesse’s birth-mother.”

“About what? And … you’re using that ridiculous system of Adam’s. Why do—"

“That would be secure system, Christy. And the heads-up is about publicity that’s about to happen. You know about the schools’ intranet?”

“The what?”

“Schools’ intranet.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Christy, Jesse sent you a long email two days ago about this. I’m calling because you haven’t replied. You haven’t even read it?”

I was already feeling rage swell, but it wouldn’t help.

“I’m busy. Teenage girls send their mothers all sorts of things.”

I bit down hard. “Do they really, Christie? Jesse sends you a monthly email because I insist she does, however bland. This one was off-schedule and flagged. It said that as she’ll lose her minor’s rights to anonymity next year and sees advantage in controlling the process she’s decided to allow photography as of now. A school civics intranet about representative democracy and its more personal costs is part of it, and there will be a photo of her with Adam and the pack in the public domain from 8 p.m. Pacific. Do you understand the implications?”

“What? What implications? What do you mean?”

I bit down harder. “Christy, if you really are as clueless as you are acting, talk to a lawyer, fast. Minor status means legal restrictions. Some of those will relax. Reporters who doorstep you or catch you in the street will be able to ask more intrusive questions in hope of indiscreet answers. And if you try the kind of wide-eyed ignorance you’re showing now, you will be filleted and fried in a New York minute, which will, despite everything, hurt Jesse and Adam. It will hurt you a great deal more, so wising up would be a good idea. And given your tendencies to exaggerate and lie, be aware that if you put into the public domain anything that constitutes slander or is otherwise actionable, action _will_ be taken. If Jesse is waiving minor anonymity, which she is, court records of custody hearings can be released, without redaction, unless you obtain a court order stipulating otherwise. Wanna try to explain to a judge why leaving ten-year-old Jesse alone for nine days while you trolled Reno was dandy but you’d rather it wasn’t known to all your friends? No? Then have a plan for what you’ll say when you do get doorstepped, because you will be.”

“You’re intimidating me! All these threats, and your ugly animal eyes. You’ve always brainwashed Jesse into hating me, and now you’re using her so cruelly for your own ends. You make us all your … political pawns, Mercedes Thompson, and it’s you that should have to explain yourself.”

I was wondering if I could go on holding it in, and feeling golden heat in my eyes, when Jesse de-lurked. Her eyes were very bright, a worried-looking Dan behind her.

“Is it really, Birth Mom? I bet myself you hadn’t bothered to read my email, and that within three minutes of Mercy calling you on it you’d claim I didn’t make up my own mind about waiving anonymity. So far I’m two for two, so here’s a newsflash. If you can’t be bothered to read what I send, I won’t bother. I won’t sever all contact, but you’re a skinny inch away. And I make up my own mind about most everything I do, because what matters — and you won’t get it but I’ll say it all the same, as I need to, once, if I’m to be at ease with myself — is that Dad and Mom, and that means Mercy, not you, Birth Mom, have let me lean on them, as much or as little as I needed to grow up as well as taller. To become adult. But to you I’ve only ever been a prop, in every sense. You lean on me, and it’s hard to grow carrying a load like you. But the last thing you want is to recognise me as adult, so you insist I can’t have made my own decisions. Get real, Birth Mom, or I’m gone. And we’re done, Mercy. Fair warning given. See you later.”

I was left with a Christy who after a calculating moment teared up.

“You’ve turned her against me!”

I had a flash of Bonarata, to match Marsilia, which tells you how much I _really_ disliked Christy, and took a very deep breath.

“No, Christy, you did that on your own. Jesse’s grown up, and your bill’s fallen due. See a psychiatrist and get some insight into why you’ve always treated her so piss-poorly, or she _will_ sever contact. You’re still sulking about my having had the effrontery to survive Manannán and order you back to Eugene, and you’ve ignored Jesse ever since. I made her write monthly on principle, but I won’t now she’s adult. You were a mess before I met you, Christy, and you’re now a worse mess. Get a grip, and try blaming yourself. A change is as good as a rest, after all. Be safe.”

That was as much goodwill as I could manage, and I cut the connection, sent Adam a terse email, and called Jenny. Then I stomped back to the kitchen, though coyote stomping is an ugly thing. Everyone looked up.

“Uh-oh. You alright, Golden Eyes?”

“Not really, Jill. I want to bite something.”

“Preferably the Sarge’s ex, I take it?” Travis shook his head. “Never met her, but the boss says she’s a real piece of work.”

“You could say. Sorry, guys, I shouldn’t vent about this, but as Christy is well into the borderlands of psychotic or fruitcake, you need to know Jesse has just, not severed, but sharply reduced contact. She won’t initiate it, and has no wish to see or hear more of the same-old same-old. Christy does _not_ get in anywhere, any time, no matter what the sob story, and if she tries anything legal call Jenny at once because our response will be severe and immediate. And as I rather wouldn’t until I’m calmer, JJ, could you please tell the senior Secret Service guy all that? I don’t think she’s a physical threat, but there’s a good chance she’ll try to get in somewhere. She’s already on their watchlist. Thanks.”

JJ slipped out and Jill frowned.

“You _are_ pissed. What does severe and immediate mean?”

“We’ve spoken to judges who ruled in Adam’s favour, and if Christy tries to serve a writ affecting Jesse we can get an immediate staying order, which will trigger counter-litigation, plus slamming everything into the public domain. Think _Batshit Roundheels Lush Birth Mom Seeks Revenge on Minor Daughter for Growing Up_ , with court records explaining exactly why a not-yet-remarried werewolf vet with any number of issues was given custody of an eleven-year-old girl, and how Guayota ended up murdering Christy-lookalikes in Finley. And thanks, Jill, because thinking about the interview I would give is letting me blow more steam.”

“Blow away. How _did_ Guayota end up here? No-one sent me the memo.”

“Christy trolled him in Reno, not noticing he was a volcano god, and he got fixated. Who knows, but I’d say great psychos think alike. Then she panicked and legged it, he followed, and it was _oh helpetty-bat-bat, Adam, save poor little me_. Which we did, not that she learned a damn thing.”

“Helpetty-bat-bat? She’s a mascara girl, I take it?”

“She’s never met a cosmetic she didn’t like. Her face is a graveyard of L’Oréal and Lancôme and whatever’s highest-end this week.”

“Ouch. Exes are always trouble but she sounds extreme. Wicked mother not stepmother. Tough for Jesse.”

“Yeah, but Jesse has her measure now, however it’s a load she should never have had to carry.”

“She’s good, Mercy.” Travis nodded approval. “We saw footage of Christy watching the Sarge trying not to kill that Harris idiot, and she looked like she was getting off on it.”

“She was. Testosterone kick, making nice strong men fight for her. Sick bitch. But I can’t go there.”

“We could just kill her, delightful daughter.” Coyote came in through the back. “I offered to have an elk stand on Paul Harris. Now you have a stampede of them doing whatever.”

“I dream of it. But getting Christy within a mile of anywhere a self-respecting elk would be is a very uphill task. She’s as urban as a condo.”

“Well, get her in a conservatory, and Elk himself could do it. He can be a stampede of one.”

Laughter helped. “I bet, but _Birth Mom Suing for Custody Dies in Lone Elk Stampede_ is probably not a good idea.”

“There’s that.” He sat, having snagged a beer. “Lone Elk Stampede is a fine name. We should find someone it fits.” He looked at me prettily, batting his eyes, and made me laugh again. “We don’t have to look far.”

“Oh hush. I have way too many names already. It was Rash Coyote Who Runs with Wolves, aka Dinner Woman. Then She Fixes Cars, which was your sisters, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, which was me, and She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It, which was you. And now I’ve lost count — She Unspins Things, She Impresses Trolls, She Does Brave Duckponds, Threshing Sledge, and Lone Elk Stampede.”

“Good litany.” He frowned. “What duckponds?”

“Ask Jill. I’m going to chop things into small pieces.”

I’d decided on lasagne, but as wolf metabolisms made for more than one baking tin to fill, we could have variety. All got onions, peppers, and cubed zucchini, as well as tomatoes, herbs, and spices, but I graded jalapeño from laughable to tasty to sweating and varied cheese mix, while Jill explained the Fountain of Uphill Justice, Statue of Surprising Mercy, and possible importance of John James Audubon to the triad-completing Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility. Coyote listened with rising eyebrows, and with the punchline gave a hoot and went coyote to chase his own tail, giving a yip when he caught it. Bouncing back to human he planted a proud fatherly kiss on my brow.

“Oh, oh, that’s _splendid_. A permanent coyote joke Underhill? I must kiss Skuffles too. You _do_ do brave duckponds, Lone Elk Stampede, exquisitely.” He looked at me hard. “And remember that when Adam had the sense to ditch Mascara Bat, the Graught didn’t only get you she got me, and Graunts. It was a really good deal.”

Moved — and amused by Mascara Bat — I gave a daughterly kiss back.

“I know. It’s just talking to Christy and her conspicuous constructions while watching Jesse lock herself down so she doesn’t bleed too much fries my restraint. I really don’t want Christy Elked, but if someone could lock her in with a shrink until her head is rewired I’d go for it.”

“Tricky. An imploding wig would be easier, and she uses extensions.”

That made me laugh too, and Coyote sat beside Jill.

“All these ducks and elk made me forget why I came, dynamite daughter, which was to say _very_ good job with the manitous today. And you did a number on those National Committees too.”

JJ gave a thumbs-up as he came back in. “The very unhappy pickle of their own silly making. You have a good line in casual backhanders, Mercy, and got your jabs in while crafting an arc that sat everyone right up, soothed them halfway down again, then went loaded-for-bear to knock them sideways with a great manitou of colour. Oh, sorry Jill, I—”

“No problem, JJ. Bears need loading for. And yeah, Mercy’s good at that. She did the same to the state legislatures — lay down facts, conjure practical solutions out of far-left field, then gut-punch. Or spirit-punch, maybe. Works, whatever it is.”

“And sets up more history round tables. Talk about birds and stones.”

“I already did that with Edythe, Brent so I’d as soon not.”

Lasagnes went in to cook, and a little later Jesse came in.

“Anything after I rang off?”

“The start of a you-poisoned-her-against-me rant I cut off. I repeated the warning, but who knows what she chose to hear, so I talked to Jenny, and all guards know Christy has no access whatever the sob story. I did most of my venting on vegetables but once Coyote got here I acquired the name Lone Elk Stampede and he dubbed Christy Mascara Bat. Sorry.”

Jesse gave a tired grin but I could feel her strain. “Don’t be. And Lone Elk Stampede’s pretty much what you did. AED was right, and your nation-stunning was stunning.”

“And so gracefully down to earth, I hope. But if we’re keen on lone elk stampedes, maybe Ol’ Manitou River could use that form for a secondary manifestation. I can’t say I’ve ever regretted the lack of a North American Dire Elk before, to match the Irish Elk, but I might now.”

Jesse blinked, and Coyote hooted more laughter.

“Dire Elk. Now _there’s_ a name to induce healthy caution.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty-Four**

Wednesday’s screamers were still _Another Manitou! More Eek!_ , but reporting was decent. Even though it was only the second time one had come out, meet and greet, rapid conferences, working group of governors was familiar from Medicine Wolf, and practicality soothed, however they’d taken _seriously big_ on board, with maps of the watershed. Appreciating my coercive courtesy (the _NYT_ expanded its idea) to governors meant nuanced political thinking, turning _eek!_ into _ooh!_ , and so did analysing my backhander at National Committees with the nature of their self-fermented pickle in trying Columbia Basin exceptionalism when I had already (everyone presumed) known another manitou was about to turn their proposed seven-governor shard into a thirty-seven-governor megachunk. O _f colour_ caused a wincing _urk!_ , but heavyweights were recognising that my candidacy as a First Person meant our profound racial problems were firmly on the table.

The photo of Jesse was also working. Andrea hadn’t held out for an exclusive and one fat fee, but sold at a multiplier of standard rates to almost everyone, and raked in a larger total that would have Caroline … I wasn’t sure what, except richer. The image shared front pages of papers and websites alike with one of me touching Medicine Wolf, with commentary on Jesse, her decision, and what the photo really said. Christy and the divorce were mentioned, but not dwelt on, and the implicit warning widely recognised. Most of Jesse’s CV being very not public domain, what little was made the running — surviving Cantrip, social media, and the impending intranet. More than one writer lauded her decision, though a handful accused me of using her.

Pretty much all media had tried to shunt their Sunday rebuke aside, but Jenny had nixed that by tallying costs of providing the mob at our gates with johns and other services, and wondering what would happen if we sued for reimbursement. That generated legal prevarications and bluster owners wanted out there, but arguing Adam and I should accept fouled verges, or that employers had no duty of care when asking employees to stand around in one place for days on end, was not so easy. Italy had clung to front pages by announcing the discovery among what I thought of as the Bonarata Papers of data about the creation of the Turin Shroud. The date in 1388 fitted radiocarbon results, and so did the context, because the hoaxer had been the Antipope Clement VII, hoping to bolster Avignon over Rome.

It killed time while I waited on Jesse, and so did calls. Washington and Oregon wanted to talk Friday, plus where their lawsuit was at, and Bran had news about European wolves being contacted by governments. Things were hotting up but not yet boiling over. The NPS were thrilled and horrified to discover what I wanted Gateway Park for, but St Louis PD with the Secret Service had security in hand. I’d put them in touch with Tom Yearman days back, and could now provide a list of manitou-greeters, adding Moira. I was in Adam’s study, the senior Agent observing with interest as his colleague in St Louis scanned the list.

“People from all over the Mississippi Basin, Ms Hauptman?”

“Yup. Representatives of First and Second People in its territory.”

“And Ms Keller?”

“White witch on standby.” NPS and PD guys not in the loop made it awkward. “It’s nothing to do with Ol’ Manitou River, just heightened security since those shots were fired. There will be other magic users present, for the same reason.”

“Huh.” The PD captain gave me a look. “I noticed security numbers were high, Ms Hauptman, and wondered if that was about magic. We’re all for better safe than sorry.”

“So is my husband.”

“I bet. Are Mr and Miss Hauptman also coming?”

“Adam, yes. Jesse, up in the air.” Jesse felt she should be there, while it gave Adam more than hives, and neither had yet been able to override the other. I was keeping out of it while I could. “Either way, I and whoever comes will be carrying — we have Missouri licenses — and we’ll go directly to Gateway Park by arch. When we head for WashU it’ll be a motorcade. Then back here by arch.”

The NPS guy was tickled. “By arch to the Arch, Ms Hauptman.” He frowned. “Those arches show on TV don’t they? Why is that when other magic doesn’t?”

“Different sort of magic, sir. Fae glamour defeats cameras, unless something wants to be seen. The arches are many things, but not glamour. So yeah, you should be able to get a two-arch shot, but it has to be within a Secret Service perimeter, so decide where that’s going to be and get me exact GPS co-ords with a photo. If you want all of your arch in shot, I assume that will mean somewhere back towards Memorial Drive. No odds, but I need that data.”

When we rang off the Secret Service agent gave me an appraising look.

“A white witch, Ms Hauptman?”

“Lenka Yakovlevna _won’t_ turn to dust if shot. Witchcraft can reverse the change in a dead wolf.”

“Ah.” He hesitated. “I’m curious about you being so accommodating to the NPS.”

“It doesn’t matter to me where exactly we come out. And whatever happens in November I’ll be leaning on them hard about bison migration.”

“That’s a priority?”

“Bison — the Elder Spirit — is still in bad shape from having four million children slaughtered. We need herds moving the way they should.”

“Ouch.” He shook his head. “As Ms Widepaw says, you’re really not boring, Ms Hauptman. Back on track, everyone got the memo about the former Mrs Hauptman, and there are media on her today, but she’s holed up.” He shrugged. “You expect her to try something?”

“Chances are. She’ll want a man, probably in Reno, but throwing herself at Adam or Jesse might come first.”

“Is she a suicide risk?”

I sighed. “Yes, if her ego finally implodes, but I don’t think it likely. Accidental OD is possible — I don’t know of anything except liquor, but the Reno binges involve a ton of cocktails, and Darryl says she does way too much maintenance drinking. She’s been on a down spiral for years, and sooner or later she’ll crash and burn. Might be this time, because Jesse hit her with home truths, but I’d bet on her trying to forget she has a daughter and heading for Reno at least one more time. If the press stay on her it could get ugly fast, but what can we do?”

“Right. And the representatives you’ve invited — was that what you were doing Sunday?”

“Yup. First People and African Americans, mostly, who work the river.”

“Huh. Which might be why the manitou’s of colour?”

“Chicken, egg. And I’d have taken a ten-ton catfish before accepting a giant Anglo bestriding the Mississippi. Or a Dire Elk. Some kind of cross between Crazy Horse and Paul Robeson is _not_ a bad deal.”

I heard a muttered ‘ _Really_ not boring.’ as I headed for the kitchen, and he was with us again as everyone — including a chipper Coyote and Adam for once blowing off work — assembled for Jesse. The structure Jesse’s, Jenna’s, and Sally’s schools had originally agreed was an extended Civic Affairs hour as last morning class, and with the many schools in Washington and Oregon that had joined Jesse would be going out to way more people than she could see on screen. PBS had provided one large screen with a mosaic of several hundred feeds, and a smaller one on which anyone asking a question could be shown. Classes had had fun deciding how they’d work it, with some random draws and votes on best question or debater. The chosen had to be willing to be broadcast, by intranet and otherwise, so there was nerve as well as kudos at stake, and schools were handling parental liaison with PBS. I’d asked Jesse if she wanted me there and she’d decided not, but rang a few minutes before the scheduled start looking as determined as terrified.

“Deep breaths, Jesse.” Adam was as nervous for her as a long-tailed cat among rocking-chairs, but had his warmest smile showing. “Then go knock ’em all sideways.”

“Your Graunts send blessings, Graught. Go make them even prouder.”

“All of that, Jesse. And remember it’s just doing what you do with more people watching and having your stomach mind its own. All set?”

<Yeah, just wigging out first. Thanks, everyone. I can do this. I wish it was easier to reread what you say before posting.>

“Yup. But short pauses are OK, and you’ve always edited your mouth about stuff that matters. Don’t fret it, Jesse.”

<Not quite always, but yeah. Thanks, Mom, and sideways it is, Dad.>

She rang off, and a moment later the feed kicked in. Principal Billings welcomed everyone, thanking participating schools, PBS and the states of Washington and Oregon for sponsorship, before saying drily it had always been an interesting privilege to have Jesse Hauptman among the student body, and more so with Medicine Wolf and my candidacy. This Civic Affairs hour had been Jesse’s suggestion, and Billings was proud to invite her to begin. Jesse was pale, but there was a graceful set to her body as she rose and the camera zoomed in that had my spine relaxing.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Jesse Hauptman, and I imagine some of your prepared questions have been overtaken by Ol’ Manitou River. Some of my prepared answers, too.” She gave a wry smile. “But before we get to that, there are three things I need to address that set out contexts for why I suggested this class, and am really pleased to talk to you all.”

She held up a hand, unfolding one finger.

“First, whatever anyone says, this is not partisan. Of course I want my Mom and Frank Lafferty to win. D’oh. And of course all the things they and others are doing, as part of their campaign or just because it needs doing, like manitous and SAGE, are going to come into it, because what else is any civics class supposed to be looking at just now? But I won’t have a vote in November, neither will most of you, and what I think about that and would like everyone to do is in my social media. This is something else, and besides issues of preternatural rights and co-operation we have major questions about our democracy, because it has really not been working so well. And yes, that takes us back towards elections, so yes it’s political, but still not partisan. I’d be grateful if teachers could do a session on that difference, because we’re not so good at honouring it.”

She unfurled a second finger.

“Next is something personal that connects. In doing this, I am forgoing my right as a minor to public anonymity, to a far greater degree than any of you asking questions, and two reasons are politically relevant. One is that, as my father’s daughter, Mercy’s step-daughter, Coyote’s step-grand-daughter, I have seen exactly what persecuting the preternatural means, and while other preternaturals have sometimes been involved, the haters and killers have very largely been human. I do not and will not appropriate African-American experiences, or First People’s experiences, that I cannot know, but this is a Civil Rights crisis all the same. And the other reason is that my public anonymity was pretty much down to not being photographed by mass media, because since Cantrip went pop I have not gone anywhere outside home without at least three bodyguards. They’re with me in school and transit, and anywhere outside. A shopping trip is a grim exercise in logistics, so that’s mostly out. My friends have to come to me if they don’t want armed men in their homes. There’s a reason I do so much by social media and so little, before now, in person. And after last week it’s not three bodyguards, it’s six plus Secret Service guys. I am very grateful to them all, but that they are necessary for a minor is an appalling indictment of our culture of violence and intolerance, and letting the two hang out and make nasty. It’s also very expensive, for Dad and now for the federal government, which costs everyone.”

A third finger.

“Which brings me to the last thing, also personal yet as public as it gets. I don’t say this to boast, but for me being famous is not an option, nor anything I’d ever have chosen. It’s just how it is. Cantrip took care of that, in their rotten selves and in throwing Mom into so much spotlight. But now I’m adding my face, stepping out as an adult with a sense of public obligation, there is something _you_ all have an option about, which is how you behave towards me on screen and in person if we ever meet. A lot of us are into being fans, and I have a bunch on social media, but if that means the way most nothing celebrities and their fans behave, forget it. I’ll keep my dignity, and you keep yours. Please hear me loud and clear on this. So with all that said, let’s get down to Ol’ Manitou River. Could there be any better news? Not in my book. But let’s not forget Medicine Wolf’s other, even unhappier neighbour, so I thought we might start with the problems of the Colorado.”

And she was off, first-rate graphics, into the provenance of which I was not going to enquire, showing how the mighty river that carved the Grand Canyon no longer made it to the Gulf of California, dwindled by damming and extraction to a muddy trickle and dry, sandy bed. Water Wars were a context, but why had farmers and industries situated themselves where unlimited extraction was allowed, and how had that happened anyway? The farmers needed water, but did we need their crops, at that price, or could they be grown somewhere less costly? They had rights, and we had rights, but as the Colorado, like all major rivers, was right where topography, gravity, and geology said it should be, where were its rights? And would it take an angry, meaning massively destructive, great manitou to make us think harder about answers to those questions? So the problem was how most effectively to work on decision-makers to get real, fast enough to make a difference.

“For me that hasn’t been so hard, because I pushed Mom to run, and Dad not to have a headfit at the idea. But no-one is doing this alone. So what can _you_ do? Can _we_ do? None of us live in the Colorado Basin, far as I know, so we come to it from outside. What can we research that the media aren’t? What do we see that they don’t? What ideas do we have? And who can we pressurise, politely, to shape up? Who are the key decision-makers, and can we get to their inboxes? Or their kids? That’s tricky, because ethics, minors, but if those kids are worried — and which of us isn’t, however we play it cool? — they deserve to know they’re not alone, and if they’re in a position to bend adult ears that matter, they should. Plus, state and federal legislators’ emails are in the public domain, and we know they really don’t like being told _if you continue to give x a pass, I will never vote for you or anyone of your party_. Two or three thousand of you are hearing me now, and you all have a dozen friends or kin who aren’t, and they have the same. If we want to, we can put tens or hundreds of thousands of You’ve Got Bad News emails into any number of Colorado Basin inboxes. We shouldn’t ever do it lightly, and our facts need to be rock-hard and spot-on. So what do we want to do about the Colorado and its unhappy great manitou? Please all do some hard thinking, and next week we’ll revisit it. For today, I expect there are questions about Ol’ Manitou River I’ll do my best to answer, warning everyone that security trumps curiosity every time. So ask away. Ms Ligatt?”

Penny fed questions up. There were good basics to start — what were manitous, exactly? and (from a studious boy in a younger class) what had I meant about vertical fall and volume? — but after a quarter-hour, and a sideways jag into _Show Boat_ ended by Jesse’s tart observation that when everyone had seen the film they could come back to it, Penny put up Edna Phillips of Klamath Falls — thirteen, quite dark-complected but, I thought, mixed-race, and from the sound of it the high achiever in her family.

“Miss Hauptman, I don’t want to be negative, but I have a question about ordinary working people not being left in what your mom called the green lurch. My dad says politicians always promise to look after people, but never do. And while I think your mom is sincere, I find that hard to deny. How can I best argue she deserves her chance when my dad’s already so … cynical, and I can’t say wrongly?”

Jesse gave a double thumbs-up. “Excellent question. And Jesse’s fine, please, Edna. First, your dad’s right. Politicians lie all the time, routinely. They also do something more complicated, which is promise in good faith to try, and do, despite knowing it’s at best a marginal chance. But second, there are ways. One issue is timing. Typically, now, what we get is, yo, this needs doing, and yeah, it does you down. Sorry and all that, but needs must. Just let us get to it and we’ll see to you tomorrow — but tomorrow never comes. Typical human perfidy. But we can work to cut the time lag and defaulting. Take the Columbia Restoration, with the dam demolitions. People worked at those dams, and suddenly they’re gone. What do people do? They’re not on their own, and being as south as Klamath Falls your dad might not have picked up on that. We can’t let electricity generation from hydropower drop too much, so new smaller turbines are going in as big old ones come out. Job transfer, and though they have to be more mobile employees don’t have to move house. There’s a big net gain in profits, too, so early retirements can be offered. There will be leftover people, but a coalition of Basin employers, in all sectors, has been primed to make preferential offers where they can. Is there disruption? You bet. But is everything that can be done to help being done? So far as I know, yes, and seriously.”

Jesse sat back, hands gesturing.

“It has to work differently in different places. If you buy arid land near the Lower Colorado, do you have the right to demand a big chunk of its dwindling water so you can make a profit on a farm that wouldn’t otherwise be viable? Or put harshly, are there people who deserve to take a loss, even if their kids don’t deserve the poverty? Then scaling up, if we, collectively, need to reduce the livelihoods of farmers on the Lower Colorado, what do we need to stump up to make that ethically acceptable? What matters to your dad’s question, Edna, is that if we build answers into solutions, so the green lurch is always accounted for, we can minimise bad faith where job mobility, retraining, redeployment, and relocation can offer workable and fair answers.”

Jesse’s hands waggled eloquently.

“But differently, different places. Let’s take Big Corn in Iowa. What’s the problem? They want to grow corn at yields per acre that demand very heavy fertilisation with nitrates, which corn needs. The nitrates wash out into rivers, and concentrate as they go downstream, meaning they poison the whole rivercourse and several hundred square miles of the Gulf of Mexico. Not good at all. But why does Big Corn need to grow so much on land that can’t do it unless it’s nitrate-fertilised up the wazoo? Well, they gotta maximise profit, right? And there’s righteous demand that has to be met, yeah? Except, no, because Big Corn cooked all those books to say what they wanted. I know most of us were still crawling or not born, but back in the mid-2000s Congress decided an eco-gesture was in order and passed a law saying we need millions of tons of renewable bio-fuels every year, so we can keep driving cars without using fossil fuels. They specified that biofuel as corn ethanol.” Jesse’s voice acquired some edge. “Big green points? Not hardly. The automakers sponsored it because it put off any need to face real change. You still put biofuel in the tank via the same infrastructure, so it’s the cheapest green-sounding mini-shift. And Big Corn sponsored it because it meant a legal demand for more and more corn. Which meant more nitrates, which wash out and down, and kill things, but did they care? Hell no, we’re being green. Not. So what does good faith about not being left in the green lurch there mean?”

She sat back again, shrugging.

“We have to start from a new perspective, with new questions. The demand for Big Corn is artificial. They schemed to make jobs and profits dependent on very intensive chemical farming. The costs of pollution are simply discounted. So. Iowan farmers and their land cannot move, and it’s good land even before they add all the fertiliser. What can they grow, without ten million tons of extra nitrates? How do we make that crop pay them enough to live adequately? Will there be problems and some who lose out whatever we try? No way round it. But, if we think positively from the get-go about how to minimise human cost, link rebuilding to demolishing, new growing industries to old declining ones, opportunity to loss, we can minimise unfairness and maximise planetary survival. So the question to ask your dad, Edna, is if he’s giving up on your children, his grandchildren, or if he’ll go to bat for the best plan we can cook up together? If he’s lost hope, is he settling for you being without it too? Or is being cynical a way of justifying being lazy? I don’t know your dad, Edna, so I can’t say, but anyone who thinks what’s happening on the Columbia is any kind of business-as-usual has their head somewhere they shouldn’t. And as I want to say something about that sort of situation, and don’t mean to imply anything about your dad or anyone in particular, I’m going to end the direct reply with thanks for asking a good one.”

The questioner-screen blanked, and I felt Adam tense, wondering how far Jesse might go after yesterday.

“I expect quite a few of us know about this one, because we have a parent, older sibling, or step-whatever who is the equivalent of blind drunk on something. Could be liquor, some drug, or an ideology, a mindset to choose violence or tolerate it, to embrace and promote hatred of some other. Race, creed, gender, orientation, magic, disability. Doesn’t matter, they all mean there is something about which you have a serious problem with a loved one. You care about it, so it matters, and it’s not only a problem for you, it’s a family or community problem as well. And it’s now our problem, because in my book a parent over eighteen has a duty to vote, with a clear head. I’m not saying _how_ they should vote, only that they should vote responsibly, and minors who don’t have votes but are aware of the ecological and democratic crises we’re in have the right, I’d say duty, to ask sensible questions of voting parents or guardians. So if one of those is refusing to engage seriously, or can’t, what can we do? We’ll revisit this, but I’ve set up hashtags that are distinct from campaign ones, and have advice. _#SelfPoisoningOthers_ for substance abuse. _#TheyHurtOthers_ for violence. _#DinosaursAndOstriches_ for the clueless with heads in the sand. And a website, [www.VotingMinors.org](http://www.votingminors.org/) has details of medical, psychiatric, social, educational, and other support groups that can help kids in that unhappy position with a loved one. So while I know how full the syllabus is, I’m still asking teachers to add a session looking at that, to make sure everyone understands what resources and protections are available for the asking. And yeah, I know they don’t always work, and Bad Stuff happens, but if you know who and how to ask for help the chances of a better outcome are way higher than if you don’t. Go figure.” She checked her phone. “There’s time for one or two more questions.”

In the event it was one, because Penny put up Brian Mitchell, an Anglo kid of maybe ten who lived in Pasco and was a Beltane boy, so he’d been awake with pre-birthday excitement last Wednesday night. He was trying to be responsible, but he’d seen what he’d seen.

“I understand about the FBI investigation, and keeping it secret until, Miss Hauptman, and I realise there must be magic secrets you can’t talk about, but is there _anything_ you _can_ tell us? The light was so _thick_ and golden at first, so beautiful when it went hazier. Seeing it made me feel really happy, but I don’t know why.”

Jesse held up a hand with a smile. “You are right about security, Brian, and the FBI with what they call _sub judice_ , matters still under investigation. And about secrets, magical and otherwise. But I can address the beauty and your sense of happiness in two phrases, _birthday boy_ and _good magic_. The event came after midnight so it was your birthday and you got an early present. I can’t affirm it, but that may have played in because birthdays have some magical kick. And not all magic is good. It can be intrinsically bad, like black witchcraft, or used badly, like guns. But it can also be used to good and beneficial ends, and the end last Wednesday was keeping my family safe. I don’t think it’s partisan to call that a good end. And most of what we think beautiful involves sight, which photons make possible. So when you saw strong magic involving sunlight at a very unexpected time you saw the sublime, something too big to take in, so it confuses you and it’s awesome. And because it was good magic, used rightly, you picked that up, maybe with a birthday or Mayday boost. I’d expect you to feel some happy confusion. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait, maybe a long time, for info on anything else that may or may not have gone down. And I can’t say I’m sorry about that, because I’m not. It’s how security is — and it’s not for me to decide it’s OK to tell everyone this or that harmless titbit, because harmless says who? Magical defences, and offences, can be major-league weird, as the laws of physics are usually not in local force, and though in fiction magical objects tend to be convenient, real ones can be more like a twig or a floating mote of dust. You never know with magic. But most humans can tell whether it’s good or bad, and you did, so you have a really happy memory to cradle and build on. And that’s it for today, if I’m to give Ms Billings the two minutes to close she asked for. Ms Billings?”

The questioner-screen blanked as Billings came forward.

“Thank you, Jesse, and not just for some smooth timing. And I think I need to talk to your mom and dad about a contract, because if I’m ever stuck for a Civic Affairs substitute teacher I know whom I’m asking first.” There was loud agreement. “Exactly. Wasn’t that astonishing? I’ll guarantee every teacher listening learned a great deal, and very few necessarily political discussions held during an election campaign have ever been less partisan. Jesse was spot-on about that, as well as everything else. So we all have thinking to do, as teachers and students should. Thanks again, Jesse, for an impressive and productive hour, and we all look forward to doing it again next week. Go safely, everyone.”

Penny reminded people of hashtags and website, with a graphic overlay, and urged anyone who’d felt timid about asking a question to think again now they’d seen how it worked. The feed blanked, and Adam and I looked at one another, bond thrumming with pride and unavoidable concern.

“She nailed it.”

“Oh yeah. Distribution. And St Louis.”

“Yes to the first, if she’s willing. That deserves the biggest audience. The other …”

“I know, love. But so does she. Where’s the line?”

Adam sighed. “I don’t know. Or I do, but I dislike it enough to be squinting in the wrong direction.”

The phone rang, and Jesse came on screen with a beaming Penny, her phone held up, and Billings behind them, looking relieved and excited, as well she might. If the Board of Governors weren’t all doing a triumphant shimmy or two they were stupider than I thought.

“Hey Mom, Dad. Was it OK? Penny thinks so.”

“It was brilliant, Jesse. You want to use more than ten minutes, Penny?”

“I want to broadcast it all, Adam, if you’re willing, and so does PBS. We weren’t sure quite what we’d be dealing with, and we’ll go week by week, but that was a TV hit in waiting.”

“Yeah. You nailed it out of the park, Jesse, and we’re seriously proud. Are you sure you’re good with nationwide live? In realtime, Penny?”

“We’ll lag it enough to hit pause if needed.”

“OK. Jesse?”

“Probably, Dad. But. Mom?”

“No-brainer, Jesse. You aced it, and the more the merrier unless you really think awareness of three or thirty million is going to bother you way more than awareness of three thousand. If so, up the lag. Live to students is a big point, but there’s nothing to say PBS can’t network it Wednesday night, or Thursday. Time to edit anything that bugged you.”

Jesse gave me a look. “You thought the mouth-editing was OK?”

I knew she was asking about the twig and dustmote. “It was fine.”

“Good. And by you, Gramps?”

“You bet, Graught. We’ve had enough lone elk stampedes, apparently, but you pulled a really superior pressgang of one.”

Jesse grinned. “If you say so, Gramps, it must be true.” Coyote snorted, and so did Adam. “Then actually, Mom, I dunno that millions over thousands would bother me much, though the resulting celebrity does. Doing something dim in front of my closest friends and whatever thousand immediate peers is already safety-critical.”

“Right. After the mid-two-figures numbers are just numbers. But there is the celebrity, and fruitcakes. Not so big a problem while you’re inside our or federal security, but as to when you might be outside either, forget it, because the answer’s long-term to never. Then again, if it happens, First Daughter will make it never anyway, so I think you’re past that decision-point. You’re walking the walk, Jesse, and very well, so just keep on keeping on.”

“I know. It’s just trigger-freeze. Alright, Ms Ligatt. I’ll sign. Dad?”

“Yeah. You want to transmit this one right away, Penny?”

She spoke to her phone. “Producers like this evening, Adam, on a rolling 6–7 slot.”

“OK. I’ll sign and send paperwork. Anything to add, Principal?”

“Only that I am again impressed by how you and Ms Hauptman handle big things with Jesse, and my thanks to you all for making today possible. It makes me feel the school is really playing a part in this idea of the Pacific North-West leading by example. But I dare say we’ll need to implement some of the more expensive security upgrades you’ve asked us to think about. I will push that with the Board.”

“There’s the scenting thing, too, Ms Billings, remember? We could trial that with some Freed, and bring in Mr Arocha to talk dogs. And I’ve always been going to do gun control some week, because SAGE and post-Parkland.” Billings nodded, warily. “So we could come to it through student safety. Big costs and worries for you, same for students. How do we lower those while raising the effectiveness of campus security? What’s practical with magic, technology, or canid noses, or isn’t? Yes?”

“Certainly, Jesse. That sounds like another excellent class. I think the, ah, dogs or wolves would have to be inside, though. We can’t do locations live.”

“Not a problem, Ms Billings. Jesse, you’ll want someone from KPD. Police approval of campus security matters, and they have scent-dogs. Talk to Tony or Clay?”

“Will do, Mom. Thanks. And … Huh.”

“What?”

“This adult Getting Things Done is heady stuff. How do you not get drunk on it?”

“Who says I don’t?”


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter Forty-Five**

I didn’t push Adam about Jesse and St Louis — I had my own ambivalence — but did spend a while playing with Googlemaps. With the transmission delay we would be three seconds ahead of where anyone watching thought we were. The public would be behind barriers, the motorcade waiting on Walnut Street within its own perimeter, so I walked possible routes, swivelling repeatedly through 360 degrees to consider what was where, and wondering what a vamp might think workable. Backbrain and gut were telling me the open location would be a plus for Bonarata, not the negative it ought to be, because he’d think surprising daywalking translocation plus vamp speed would mean he could blitz us, which he had to do to recover his rep. He couldn’t stop vamps being outed, and was choosing defiance, so killing me on national TV was good, not bad. Minus the TV, it was pretty much what Manannán had thought, but as Bonarata knew I had multiple bodyguards he’d need numbers, and if he was aiming to come out right on us, maybe just far enough out for me to see him coming, unstoppably as he thought, and we were _ahead_ of where he thought we’d be … but I couldn’t arrange a transmission advance. It was tempting to ask the Secret Service for analysis ; instead I sent Adam a very encrypted email, collected Jill and Brent, and went to ask Underhill if she knew how long slow time would take to envelop a designated area.

There was no sign of any duckpond excavations, Audubon-shaped or otherwise, but something in the magical potential I’d sensed in the conjunction of fountain and statue had … not settled, exactly, although the decision made about number three was in there, but become poised. Carnwennan pulsed on my hip. I filed under _spannungsbogen_ and sat quietly, enjoying warm light and fragrance while Jill and Brent wandered around. It wasn’t long before Underhill skipped in, nodded to them, and sat beside me, legs swinging.

“Mercedes Elf-friend. You look tired.”

“Hello, Underhill. Just strung out after watching Jesse’s intranet. She did really well, but it was nerve-racking for Adam and me, and her becoming an adult, choosing what risks she takes, has us … well, humans say conflicted.”

“So do fae. And yet time passes, I am told.”

I gave her a look, and she grinned.

“So it does, and as it happens my question today is about exactly that.”

I asked it, and she cocked her head.

“Interesting. If this happens as you posit, you need slow time to claim all with you very swiftly, yet elide any Undead translocating within your perimeter. _That_ would happen anyway. My blessings avoid them. The speed is a question of energy and strength to bear my magic’s passage.”

“Can you estimate what I might manage?”

“Perhaps half-a-second, Overhill. But if you pull on me in full fight mode, as you did with my justice, dilation will first be greater for you, so its wider extension may seem slow. The cloak will be able to give you a sense of your ratio to Overhill time. But anything beyond two figures will consume energy very swiftly as it passes through you, so do not maintain it any longer than you must.”

“I hear you, Underhill, and am glad. The balance deepens, doesn’t it?”

She gave me a very sharp look. “It does, Mercedes Elf-friend. How long have you known?”

“Too much didn’t quite add up. Would I be right to think clever Gray Lords don’t always listen, even to you?”

“Oh yes. And now I am glad, I believe.” Her smile was complicated. “ As I am about your completion of the triad. Mr Audubon could draw.”

“Couldn’t he? Edythe told you about the keepsake idea?”

“She did, Mercedes. I do not mind how anyone thinks of it so long as I get a copy soon.”

“Can you get to a computer in Walla Walla?”

“Electricity doesn’t much like my magic. Is a copy available via one?”

“It is. Gwynne ap Lugh could do a set of plates to tide you over while Edythe scares up a proper copy.”

“Excellent. I wonder why he hasn’t done so already.”

“Indigestion.”

She gave a piping laugh. “It is becoming an oddly common complaint.”

“So I should hope. Along those lines, may I bring David Christiansen’s five human subordinates through on Friday? All both ways, I devoutly hope. Even if Jesse doesn’t come, Adam will want them all on me and flying is a logistical mess however I cut it, given Overhill time. And if Jesse does come, there are her trio of guards.”

“Tell me of these humans.”

I sketched Adam and David, listing rescues I knew of, and thumbnailed Connor, JJ, Vinnie, Travis, Lincoln, Dan and the Joes, adding that Medicine Wolf had read them all.

“Well enough. All are welcome to pass through the Garden with you on Friday, taking no step aside. It is a two-time only let, though.” She gave me a look. “If I tell Gwyn ap Lugh you bypassed him, he will guess you know.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

She considered me. “You are not … unangry.”

“With reason. But it’s more irritation than rage. I’ll tell Gwyn ap Lugh so, if that conversation ever happens.”

“I shall look forward to it. Was there anything else?”

“Maybe, but this is no kind of vital, however desirable for me.”

She cocked her head again. “Consider me intrigued.”

I grinned. “Certainly.” I told her what I’d wondered about the evening I’d lain in the Garden while Adam and Jesse stared at the statue, and she gave a long, slow blink that for some reason made me think of dragons. “It was only a thought.”

“It was an interesting thought. I cannot see why I should not, but I will let it settle into my mind and magic for a while. Do give Jesse my greeting, and know your destiny yet shines bright.” She rose. “Fare you well Overhill, Mercedes Elf-friend. I am not sure I quite understand your distinction between magic and luck, but I wish you the unity of them.”

Brent and Jill again got nods, and she vanished among roses as I stood.

“Don’t ask.”

They did, of course, as soon as we were back, but I held my ground.

“Briefing would do more harm than good. And the rest is no-one’s business except mine and the Gray Lords’.”

And Bran’s, but that could wait, too.

“And Adam’s.”

“He knows, Brent. And about the other.”

“Huh. And Jesse?”

“She’s got the clues. Not sure if she’s worked it out, but so do you, and you haven’t.”

“Enough that you think there’s … what, bad faith, somewhere?”

“What’s a little omission between elves and their friends? SOP with the fae.”

Jill shrugged. “She’s right about briefing, Brent. So much uncertainty would frazzle everyone. She can stoke up against energy drain, though.”

“Can and will.”

They weren’t happy campers but understood playing odds, and left me as alone as I ever got these days, which wasn’t very with the phone constantly chirping. PBS had been running trailers for Jesse’s intranet and curiosity was spiking. Washington and Oregon (who’d had feeds) were sharply complimentary in statements and more so in emails. So were volunteers who’d watched with Jenny and Andrea, and I could label them all impressed. When had anyone seen a _de facto_ politician answer every question asked? The flood of requests for interviews was another matter, and I talked with Mary, insisting refusal was an option but agreeing we’d give Jesse the choice of a pool system for, at most, fortnightly pieces.

“Otherwise she’d need her own PA, Mary. Graduating comes first. And not every yapping dog gets a bone.” She nodded. “Anything on Christy? I gather media’s on her in Eugene.”

“They are, but she hasn’t been seen, and security people are keeping them in line.”

“I’ll ask Auriele to call her.”

Which I did, before getting back to the inbox. Once I was though the flurry of Jesse-stuff, I reached gubernatorial responses, appreciative of the package I’d sent if more shocked by the data than they should have been, and apprehensive of racial issues. I didn’t blame them and had a follow-up offering perspectives I’d be using Saturday, assuming I got so far. There was no way round the weight of history, nor its rawness, and every reason to go there — but had they realised just how much Ol’ Manitou River could change the game, not only hydrographically? I helpfully appended ethnic breakdowns of new voter registration in their states, and added a suggestion that, given what everyone would hear Jesse saying this evening, they should also create a Colorado Basin group. Colorado and New Mexico were in both Mississippi and Colorado Basins, Utah and Nevada in both Colorado and Columbia, and Wyoming made all three, so perhaps it would chair a committee of bemanitou’d governors to link the groups? It would be an interesting new role for a state that had very ex-Senator Heuter on Death Row and was still reeling from what Cantrip had done in its backyard. So could some of them please reach out to Arizona and California, where the real water-extraction problem lay, as well as the governors of Sonora and Baja California Norte, to suggest proactivity by a Colorado Basin group might be far more sensible than not? I copied in the Man and fired it off.

Slate people were also asking what Jesse had covered, and I sent a blanket reply with the bullet points. Frank got a longer answer, because I could express mixed feelings about Jesse’s success and its consequences, and he deserved a detailed take on the way Jesse dealt with the question about Underhill’s magic. Finally I contemplated an email from Penny with an attachment labelled ‘Coyote Strikes Again’, and sat back to watch him trot up to a KTNW news team covering a burglary in Kennewick and tell the camera that he was as proud of his Graught as any twenty-something-thousand Gramps could be. People should watch her, because they’d learn a bunch of useful stuff, and not to worry about the hair-dye, it’d soon change. The bemused reporter recovered sufficiently to ask if he knew Ol’ Manitou River, and Coyote’s eyes glinted.

“Of course I do. Since Medicine Wolf tickled it into talking again, bless that old dire wolf’s cotton socks, we’ve been listening to Blues together. There’s a crying need for some First People blues, don’t you think? And have you noticed the way some things work better as blues titles? You know, Razorwire Blues or Reservation Blues, but really not McNugget Blues or Single-Use Plastic Blues? Amerindian names work really well. Shoshone Blues, Oglala Blues, Buffalo Calf Road Woman Blues, Little Big Horn Blues. You name it. Maybe I’ll ask Bob Dylan to come give some lessons, and see if I can get something rolling. Meantime, everyone, watch my splendid Graught this evening on PBS, because Jesse Hauptman rocks. And so do I, because the Path of Mercy is _working_ and today is a good day to live. As most are, but still.”

And he’d gone coyote, trotting up the sidewalk with a friendly yip to goggling children. It was one way to avoid follow-ups, and if my heart hurt a little I appreciated the subtleties Jesse would hear, edging Christy aside, tweaking distraction with the hair dye. It was a lot of kindness for Coyote, and an Amerindian Blues programme was a fine idea, though I thought Taj Mahal might be his man, and sent him a message saying so. Penny’s email warned me the clip was airing heavily, and by the time Jesse got home she’d seen it and called my disreputable da to thank him and ask him to join the fun one week. They would, she told me grinning, discuss driving, roadkill, and hunting habits.

Jesse was on a relief high, and I let her talk, piecing together an afternoon that had seen classes but also a … precipitating out, I decided, with many elements. A lot more students had known she did serious things than had seen her doing one, and there had been a dose of it’s-only-who-her-parents-are, with ambivalent feelings about Dan and the Joes, but Jesse had done some world-stunning of her own. The way I’d been dominating the news cycle had been a building pressure she’d phase-shifted, and her sharp refusal of what she’d called undignified celebrity had generated a wave of respect from all grades. It was balm after events with Christy, for which I was grateful even if I worried about Mascara Bat’s response. Then Jesse said she had no wish to watch herself.

“Uh uh. You don’t have to watch every week, unless there was an issue, but this time you do. How aware were you of where Dwayne was?”

She stared. “Not so much, Mercy, but Penny said I needn’t be.”

“Right, because Dwayne’s very good, and first time out you don’t need the pressure. Plus, classroom, so it’s not like you’re going walkabout. But, knowing it’s all good, watch and note when he had to scramble, learn how to make his job easier. Cameras you’re on won’t always have friendly operators, and while it’s always substance over style, style rarely hurts.” I gave a grin. “And Coyote was on about the hair-dye because it looks a bit darker on screen. You might want to lighten it.”

That engaged her on a different level, and Adam was back in time to sit her between us as PBS aired her. She was jittery with embarrassment at first, but commentary on playing to camera without being untruthful drew her into a more thoughtful mood. The matter of hair dye was dealt with by narrow-eyed staring, a swift look at a web-page of swatches that made my eyes hurt, and a crisp email to Penny asking for a clear technical summary of why perfectly good Marsh-Sedge Green came out like a bad batch of Forest Foliage, with a URL for the swatch page. As she kept watching while accurately typing at speed, which made my thumbs as well as my eyes ache, I said nothing, enjoying Adam’s amusement at military precision, and imagining the look on Penny’s face. Messing with Jesse’s hair dye did not have a defence of technical unavoidability, and it would do Penny no harm to be reminded Jesse made her own decisions.

Adam had someone pulling together reaction from the Eastern, Central, and Mountain 6 pm slots, and a surprising number of stations hadn’t been able to help telling viewers to switch channel if they wanted to see something remarkable. To everyone’s amusement, Wolf Blitzer, who scheduled a special _Situation Room_ to cherry-pick excerpts as they happened, Eastern Time, and offer his own drama-queen brand of analysis, found it increasingly hard to cut excerpts off, and was brusquely asked by his guests to let Jesse run until an answer was complete. Getting miffed with your guests was not a good idea, and contrarian protests about rights of farmers and industry to claim water that would only be lost in the sea earned him retorts adding riparicide, murdering a river, to the nation’s vocabulary. Even Fox, who clearly wanted talking heads to say it was all a partisan abuse of minors and education, found the talking heads wouldn’t oblige. All in all, Jesse was blowing everyone away, and she’d slammed a bunch more things into the news cycle.

As the hour ended Jesse flopped back, and kicked her heels.

“Urk. Point taken. Dwayne is very good, isn’t he?”

“He’s slick. But you’ve got the instincts, Jesse. Just let them kick in. I get it coyote-wise, because animals know how to pose. Much as the comparison offends, ask Medea.” Jesse grinned. “Yeah, but think of the way she knows exactly how to place herself on a rug. Try explaining the Golden Ratio to her and she’ll sniff disdain, but she hits it every last time. And talk to your Dad — he’s never taken a bad photo in his life.”

“Hey!”

Adam’s protest was silenced as my phone pinged, and a message from Leslie popped up.

_Re: Jesse’s blinding performance today, the line, not its context. “Hot as a pistol but cool inside”. AttaJesse!_

“Leslie has it right.”

Jesse leaned in to read my screen. I tapped forward, and made choices.

“What? Mom, you can’t—”

“Oh yes I can. You know the Man’s a closet Deadhead, and so’s the Director of the CIA. Odds any of them weren’t watching? Irpa and Purity deserve a heads-up, too.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice. “Right. And you have a unicorn’s … an unicorn’s? Whatever. Purity’s cell number because?”

“Deadheads over Breadheads, Jesse. Unicorns agree.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter Forty-Six**

Even the Turin Shroud couldn’t keep Italy on front pages next morning, for Jesse had done some headline-hogging of her own. A CALL TO FARMS had some punch, but the runaway winner was the _Saskatchewan Sage_ — SHE STEPS SIDEWAYS TOO, with the image of Jesse between me and Adam. They’d reached a more focused version of Leslie’s idea that kids who grew up with the preternatural were sharp to the world, and like other papers correlated clear disapproval of Christy not even tweeting a ‘well done, proud of you’ with Adam having been given custody. And very few people had realised Coyote had taken to being a Gramps, however step, as seriously as he took anything.

There was niggling at the partisan, because it was all synergy for me, but they found it hard to fault what Jesse had said. There was also kneejerk Big Corn babble about the absolute necessity of burying Iowa feet deep in nitrates, and matching Lower Coloradan bluster about rights to all resources, but the prospect of an angry manitou had actually got through on the back of Ol’ Manitou River’s impending appearance. A few writers were scornful of what they called naivety, sketching big solutions, but more had been struck by the grounded plausibility, backed by the radical practicality of the Columbia Restoration — which, they realised, Jesse had seen at very close quarters. And everyone was taken with her final answer. The idea of a birthday having incidental but benign magical force, in seeing and memory, was a warm and despite everything simple pleasure, and Brian Mitchell found himself famous as the boy who saw. We couldn’t offer him security, but Pasco PD were on it, and Jesse had an advice sheet she sent his parents with mass-media dos and don’ts ; she was also pleased with an ungrudging respect for her observation of security, and relieved no-one seemed to be wondering about twigs and motes of dust.

I grinned. “You shouldn’t have said it if you didn’t want anyone to work it out, Jesse.”

“I know.” She buttered a roll and shook her head. “How do you _do_ this, Mom? I know it’s completely deniable, twigs and dust are everywhere, and I just meant small, apparently insignificant things. But I know what I meant, so it’s like I’m expecting a reporter to jump up and shout a question about vamps. Why aren’t you?”

“Who says I’m not?”

She stared. “And if one does, you’ll say?”

“Depends on the question and circumstances, Jesse. If nothing’s broken wide, ignore if possible.”

“And if an intranet question’s asked?”

“Another week before we need to answer that.” I shrugged. “But if it’s false, try _No comment_ , and if it’s true, _You might think that. I couldn’t possibly comment._ The nightmare itch is normal, Jesse. This isn’t just the sky might fall on our heads tomorrow, because you did mean what you meant and it’s on record. Out of interest, if you’re asked, after it all breaks, what you did mean, what would the answer be?”

She thought about it. “Well, Ms Reporter, you could call it a true thought about secret matters moving a little closer to the surface. I knew what the huorn had done, and the sunlight, and to who, so when I needed a metaphor twigs and dust were handy.”

“OK. To whom, if you’re feeling snippy. And the problem is?”

“Nightmare itches being normal. Celebrity sucks way too much.”

“And responsibility. That one can be a real … elk in a manger.”

“Rarely a pretty sight.” Jill was amused. “But no leaping reporter is going to get by your guard detail, Jesse, and if Clark Kent somehow did you’d be entitled to shoot him.”

Jesse gave her a look. “All out of Krypton today. But thanks, I think.”

“It’s just new territory, new horizons, Jesse. First week I was a sergeant I thought the world might explode on me any second, and not just incoming. Gets easier as it gets less unfamiliar. Sorta.”

“You got that right.” Dan gave Adam a sergeant’s smile. “We should be going, Jesse. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.”

She gave Dan a look too, but went, trailed by guards. Adam was staying, because whatever we both thought likely, as time passed since the last vamp attack his itch was getting severe, and he could work from home. I had my own itch, and as it meant he was using the encrypted system, I could avoid calls and have a conversation with Zee. He was happy to come by, with Tad, and after cheerful talk about Jesse being a pistol I politely excluded everyone except Brent and Jill, and asked a very carefully worded question that drew his brows down, and made Tad whistle.

“Whoa, Mercy. Underhill knows you know?”

“She does, Tad. She also knew it was nature and habit, not necessity, and I don’t think she was over-impressed. Zee?”

“You are playing with fire, _liebchen_ , but I see nothing implausible or impossible here. And I do not think I understand your full purpose.”

“Ask my cloak, Zee. It’s dealing with synergies, and I trust it and Manannán’s Bane to get it right again, whatever it is.”

His eyes narrowed “You have built in many layers and distractions. And you may have tapped older sources than you know.”

“ _Spannungsbogen_ in the Garden?”

“ _Ja_. You recognised that?”

“Carnwennan did. They’ve made up their own minds?”

“About something, certainly.” He muttered in old German and Tad rolled his eyes. “There is no knowing, Mercy. You are mixing many magics, as with Skuffles, and she is at work also. Even Underhill cannot be certain what we will get when they … do whatever it is they are going to do.”

“Huh. There isn’t a true enough verb for it?”

Zee shrugged. “Maybe we will find out on Friday.”

“Un huh. Want to be there? Ap Lugh hasn’t said anything about sending Fae representatives to the manitou meet, but you could be one. Formal greeting. Exchange contact protocols.”

“That might work. Are Adam and Jesse coming?”

“Everyone’s asking that. Adam, yes. He and Jesse are at loggerheads over her coming.”

“I’m there if she is.”

Tad gave Zee a filial look but Zee only nodded, and I added the transmission delay. They both immediately saw the advantages whatever the probable proximity of translocation, a fae ease with time running on more than one track at once, I thought, and by the time they left Brent and Jill were less alarmed and more nonplussed.

“Sideways isn’t strong enough for you, She Only Sorta Unspins Things. What’s it called in eleven dimensions, or however many they’re up to now?”

“Pass. I gave up with that when I found out dimensions don’t come in whole numbers any more.”

“They don’t?”

“Nope. Math head said the coastline of Britain was 1.67-dimensional, and made it stick with other math heads. Don’t ask me. Though come to think of it, manitous are probably fractal. And now I have to dress for a pool interview. Oh joy.”

“Un huh. Don’t say anything about decimal dimensions, hey?”

“Promise.”

I left her half-smiling. Bears didn’t quite approve of coyote humour, even when they got it, but I was feeling better too, knowing Zee was onboard, even if I did have to give an interview. Broadening my public wardrobe, with doing things differently in mind, I opted for linen slacks, and a shirt in heavy silk. A jacket completed the outfit, because I wasn’t going to wear the cloak, as I explained to it, though I had Carnwennan on my belt and Manannán’s Bane, and I went to check arrangements with my various guards.

The media had agreed whoever was on the gate on an interview day was it, and done the roster by random draw for each of TV, radio, and print. They’d been set to get nasty with one another again over which of the three would be it when Andrea let them know that, time being money and in short supply, I’d do all three simultaneously. There had been whining, but there was no technical reason it couldn’t be done, TV and radio could be live, and all could ask questions. That it meant the accountability of live coverage extended to them as well as me was just a side benny, and at 11.30 sharp the KPD let them in.

I went down to meet them, with all of David’s crew, Jill, and Brent holding on me, while the Secret Service held a perimeter. Today’s lucky winners were Choo Harris, Chicago, TV, bright-eyed twenty-something female with ambitions ; Ted Wasserman, a hangdog-faced older Texan man, radio, with some cynicism starting to crack ; and, pleasingly, the _CSM_ guy Reverend Jenkins had dealt with, Lars Ostek. I’d met him and liked his work, so I offered a hand and asked him for introductions. There were wide eyes at the heavy security and Carnwennan.

“I know, Ms Harris, Mr Wasserman, Mr Ostek, but that’s how it is, I’m afraid. And camerawoman, ma’am, you should be tight on whoever’s asking questions or me, not on my security. Make sure you are, please.”

I got assent, and Harris took her chance.

“Of course, Ms Hauptman, but is there anything you can tell us about the threats you’re facing?”

“No. Security trumps curiosity every time, Ms Harris, as Jesse said. More fully, not that you and everyone don’t already know. Shots were fired. There is stuff on social media and elsewhere that threatens harm to me and mine. And I have been putting a manitou among governors, as well as really annoying both main parties sufficiently that neither National Committee has yet condemned those shots. Can’t say I’m impressed. Mr Ostek, I imagine you’ll be wanting another manitou interview as soon after tomorrow as the churches can rustle up another list of agreed questions.”

He smiled, nodding. “Comparative Manitou Studies 101 is very tempting, Ms Hauptman, but I have been wondering about the propriety of re-asking a question.”

“Rightly, Mr Ostek. But you just need to be upfront, because the manitous know you want to see if they disagree about anything, and you could take care of it by asking if Ol’ Manitou River has anything it would add to or qualify in Medicine Wolf’s answers.”

He blinked. “Thank you, that’s very helpful. Do you, um, anticipate …”

I grinned. “Not much um with manitous usually, Mr Ostek. And how should I know? Yeah, they’re both very big river basins at heart, but rivers aren’t the same, so why should their manitous be identical? Besides, whether the Mississippi and Columbia see God the same way is beyond my stars. Let the sermons roll. And let’s walk as well as talk. You’re due a question, Mr Wasserman.”

“Got a bunch, Ms Hauptman. Hard to know where to start, but I work for a Christian family station, and while I mean no offence, it’s not easy to understand where you’re coming from or how your family works.”

My laughter surprised him. “Tell me, Mr Wasserman. It’s not my business to discuss what Adam and Jesse believe, but I wonder how we work too, often. I just don’t doubt, ever, that we do. It’s an absolute. The Irish poet William Yeats once said a poem comes right like the click of a closing box, and that’s how it is with us. Is that so unfamiliar a story to your listeners, whatever the vagaries of their own lives before they got to where they are?”

“Not at all. But your husband doesn’t take communion.”

I think he thought it was a trap, but I just nodded. “No, he doesn’t. You could ask him, but I don’t recommend it, Mr Wasserman. Faith and ritual are private as well as public matters, and though I accept candidacy requires a higher standard of me, that does not extend in religious matters to Adam or Jesse. Or any slate candidate — we vetted for any significant liability, but if they were sincerely onboard with core policies, faith wasn’t an issue. I’d go to bat in a flash for genuine freedom of worship, meaning sincere belief absent harm to any, but I accept this is a secular country for good reasons. I expect some of your listeners have things to say about that, and the constitution, maybe?”

“Uh … sometimes, yeah.”

“And do you defend separation of church and state? Or let it slide?”

“Um … you do defend it? Always?”

“Yeah, I do. Religious wars suck as much as all wars, and a lot of pious people are significantly intemperate. We all know the zealous, and often enough they have interesting things to say, but giving them keys to the Pentagon is an even worse idea that letting them raise armies. Ask Europe, or anywhere else. I imagine you’d agree, Mr Ostek?”

He would, and Harris asked about the services of earth fae, visible all around us, then the grove and unphotographability.

“I know it sticks in your craw, but think about it, Ms Harris. Is it simply defence against unpardonable intrusion? Yup. Ask Ramona Velasquez, or any Freed. Or anyone who’s been victimised by media packs crying their rights and freedoms. You know it goes too far, too often. But what else is a zone of unphotographability? Where are we at with cameras?”

“Uh … what do you mean, Ms Hauptman?”

“Besides the TV camera, how many are there within spitting distance of us right now? Everyone’s got at least one phone, so that’s twenty-odd at least. What’s that about?” I stood looking over the Columbia. “Everything on film, always? The US isn’t as keen on saturation law-and-order CCTV coverage as some Europeans, but we’re getting there, and when it comes to private coverage we’re as dense as anyone except maybe the Japanese. Why else is pornography so cheap these days? That’s had mixed effects, but plenty of bad among them. Why on earth do so many people take naked selfies and store them on the so-called cloud, meaning big hackable servers owned by someone else and churning out carbon footprint? So don’t you think it might be an idea to have some trees around the place, here and there, that can tell any and every camera, _No. Not here, not this_?”

Ostek had done his homework. “You have a link to Susan Sontag’s essays on photography on your website, and a quotation.”

“I do. She said photography gave us a new grammar and ethics of seeing. I think she was right, and so do most First People I know. We also think accepting the unphotographable is a necessary response, and as humans are really bad at strict limits, automagical enforcement is handy.”

“Automagical. Good one. Is the unphotographable the ineffable?”

“Not for my money. The ineffable is by definition unphotographable, I’d say, but there’s more than that we should keep our little glass-lensed mitts off. Is sex ineffable? What about the sublime, which needn’t be divine, and can certainly be techno? But the point is that the old Amerindian belief photography stole the soul wasn’t, isn’t, as loony as it can sound. Do I believe that being photographed affects how you stand with God or any divine power? Of course not. But do some ways of being photographed affect the soul, or psyche, or collective imaginary? Oh yeah, they do that alright, and I think most of us know it, even if we don’t much like thinking it through. Ask victims of revenge porn, and what the … I’ll say hell, and mean it, is that about? You have what right, what possible justification, what deep-fried circuits to even think that was any kind of righteous? Ask celebs who get photoshopped, or snapped though a mile-long telephoto lens. Ask the incidental or misidentified who find forty hacks doing the yadda-yadda in their faces one morning. And if you really want something meaty to chew, notice that while I am, in most respects, strongly socially liberal, for good reasons to do with tolerance and not fighting unwinnable wars, I have very healthy respect for limits, bars, parameters, hands-off signs, and _no you_ _don’t, buster, not in my lifetime_. Input values need limits, if you want acceptable and useful outputs. Ask any scientist.”

That had them arguing among themselves, and I saw the camerawoman’s amusement as she saw mine. I interrupted to introduce Nuthatch and Pirandella, who had offered to show up. They kept it short and sweet, but wanted to convey what they had to Frank and Rachel about why being welcomed to human tables mattered to them. Pirandella threw in some tart remarks about barely-of-age beings doing what elders could or would not that made it clear they’d seen Jesse do her stuff and approved. With that sorted, I relieved guards and surprised reporters by heading briskly to the kitchen, where I shed the jacket and added an apron before washing my hands. David and his crew with Brent and Jill hung back, standing, the Secret Service was off duty with me inside, and reporters got the table, camerawoman standing to swing between them and me.

“Time management, people. A teenage daughter, multiple bodyguards, forty-something wolves, and Coyote means keeping the cookie tin full is an uphill struggle, and I can cook and answer questions at the same time. A would-be president ought to be able to bake, don’t you think?”

I assembled ingredients and implements. There was a risk, but I needed to be a person, not just a supercoyote silhouette.

“You all seem a bit slow with questions today, so let me revisit Mr Wasserman’s, about my Christian family life. You know I’m a churchgoer, and that the spirit of a congregation matters to me as much as anything but core dogma. Well and good. But I also have fairies at the bottom of my garden. You’ve just met them, and heard them say that on Sundays they’re round the table you’re sitting at, having a high time with steamed snow peas. It’s neighbourly, and I could say I was being a good Christian, but there’s more to it than faith. The rituals of breaking bread with earth fae who tend your land go back millennia, and for the last two they have been persecuted by the intolerant Christianity of cold iron, as pagan superstitions, or if real then diabolic. But that was always ignorance and rank intolerance.”

I added eggs, pitching shells into the waste box, and stirred again.

“Or take the pack. Many are Christian, but by no means all, and denominations vary. We have agnostics, atheists, a Muslim, a Jew, and two Taoists. And it makes no odds at all to being pack. I’m coyote, not wolf, and like Joel Arocha not moonbound, but again, so what? We’re pack. Our faiths have to accommodate truth, not deny it.”

Two baking trays were briskly greased.

“And consider that I see ghosts. I’m surprised no-one’s asked me about that. All avatars do, because we are open to part of what First People call the Spirit World, right alongside the one most of us see. Now, everyone I know who sees ghosts agrees they are not souls, and lack more than bodies. Some are repeaters, stuck doing whatever they did every day of their lives. More suffered violent death, and have a sense of vengeance, or unfinished business. And avatars not only see them, they can banish them, so I am in Amerindians terms a qualified exorcist. I don’t know where banished ghosts go, but it feels like onwards.”

Filled trays went into the oven, and I made hot chocolate.

“All of that is to me simple fact. Allowing for the simple, so are Medicine Wolf, Thunderbird, and Gwyn ap Lugh. Your question was fair, Mr Wasserman, but it’s not so easy for me to be more conventional, standard-issue, whitebread, though I’m trying, and I couldn’t be any more Anglo or human if I wanted, which I don’t. Is that so hard to grasp?”

“Maybe not, Ms Hauptman. But I’ll cut to a different chase, because my more worried listeners think your tolerance slides into a kind of permissive they don’t buy. You have endorsed an openly gay candidate. And whatever anyone thinks, the Bible says what it says.”

“Yup. In the Old Testament, which also commands us not to seethe the kid in its mother’s milk. You observe kosher rules, Mr Wasserman?”

“Of course not, but—”

“But nothing. You’re cherry-picking what you want from the Bible, and ignoring the New Testament wholesale. When it comes to sex and statute law I have only two absolutes, which are informed consent, meaning no children or animals, and no permanent harm. Beyond that, whatever anyone’s beliefs, statute law is a really bad tool for dealing with everyone’s most private lives, and discriminating against law-abiding citizens is never on. The religious have every right to disapprove of whatever, but if anyone really thinks Warren being gay is a reason not to vote for a being as old as our nation, who’s seen the whole thing first-hand, is extremely capable, kind, and thoughtful , and could do a spectacular job as state senator, they have their heads on backwards. They’re also very probably men.”

Milk went into mugs, and I passed them round, taking a seat.

“The conspicuously pious pound away about orientation, citing the Old Testament and Pauline misogyny … or the Qur’an, or Rabbinic tradition, but I often wonder if they understand it was labelling and persecution that created the Pink Dollar and Pink Vote. Those didn’t exist before later nineteenth-century medics, psychiatrists, and preachers decided swinging one way rather than another was a disease and a crime, warranting custodial terms for men, though not women. It was the Populists here, and what I’ll call Neo-Puritans in Britain, who more or less made anything sexual other than wilful procreation a criminal offence. All else aside, it really, really didn’t work, for anyone, and was always an unworkable as well as bigoted idea that produced more than a century of grim suffering and murder visited on overwhelmingly harmless citizens. It’s another of those pernicious binaries I mentioned, interrogatives that needn’t be. Are you straight or gay? It’s gotta be black or white. Not, as Jesse would say. So yeah, I support Warren Smith, because he’d do a really good job. What consenting adults do in private is no lawmaker’s concern.”

I drank hot chocolate, and sighed.

“Chocolate is one of my vices. And I’ll add that Reverend Jenkins had a really good run of sermons, a year or so back, about how Christianity got its insistence on mortifying the body and sacramentalising abstinence. The Church Fathers were reacting against all that naked Greek posing and Roman orgies and whatever — pagans do _that_ so we’ll do _this_ — and so were pillar-saints and hair-shirters. Fair enough, maybe, then. But extreme reactions ease with time, or should, and Protestants certainly had a point when they said we are as God intended us, plumbing and all, so why shouldn’t priests marry? I tend to think we could take that further, because if _some_ self-discipline and austerity are fine, hating your own body and desires because you want to out-mortify long-dead pagans seems … not sensible. And as a woman I can’t say I much appreciate some values St Paul got from hating and fearing his male body.”

I drained the mug.

“Chocolate never lasts long enough, alas. One more thing on this topic, which is that even if I were a homophobe, which I’m not, worrying about it would be nowhere on my agenda because there’s way too much else that’s safety-critical and morally urgent. Those Westboro Baptists are not just wilfully offensive, they are comprehensively wrong. So if what really matters to some of your listeners, Mr Wasserman, is for our next president to have gay-bashing credentials, they should vote for someone else. Anyone got a new question?”

They did, and as I pulled brownies from the oven I answered them as briefly as seemed reasonable. No, I wouldn’t do anything rash with foreign policy, but yes, there might be changes. Did we need large army bases in quite so many peaceful places? Maybe not, but I’d need to listen carefully to what the military thought before I could make any decision. Yes, NATO was good, and yes, China was indeed expanding, variously. No. I didn’t know anything about what kinds of preternatural there might be there, except probably dragons and whatever it was that made them think of geomancy and _feng shui_ ,but it was a good question.

Pulling meat from the freezer brought an interlude about how much food we got through, pack tithing, and why I didn’t mind cooking as often as I did (I found it soothing and enjoyed the results). Yes, Adam could rule a barbecue when he wanted, but so could Jesse, while Darryl was a superior cook. And yup, running on four legs was a lot of fun, with a whole extra world of smells. I had a good nose on two legs, which was why I could tell them Harris had a blister pack and a wrapped toffee in one pocket, Wasserman kept a gerbil, and Ostek at least three cats, but as a coyote I could have identified the brand of toffee, if I knew it, and the breed of cat. Breeds of gerbil I was less clear on. That took us to forensics, and the hour was nearly up when Harris glanced at her phone.

“Ah. This seems intrusive, Ms Hauptman, and I don’t want to be, but the former Mrs Hauptman is about to give a TV statement.”

I managed not to shut my eyes, though I did take a deep breath. “Thank you, Ms Harris. I’d better watch. And don’t worry about intrusion. Luck of the draw.”

Unless it was calculated on Christy’s part to cap me. David flipped the TV on the side on, and found Christy already in full Mascara Bat mode facing a mob and cameras, with Eugene PD uniforms keeping the lid on. She’d done nothing to deserve their relentless persecution, she told them dramatically, which was wicked, and it wasn’t fair she couldn’t even go to work. Everything was my fault, because I was a conniving marriage-wrecker and man-thief, and wouldn’t even let her stay in the Tri-Cities, cruelly driving her away to Eugene. I’d savagely attacked her with hair-dye, ruining her looks for months, and blamed her for everything that happened when it was all my own fault. Now I was pushing myself into everything, and why did everyone just stand for it? It wasn’t right, and they were all doing my wicked bidding like horrid zombies, so would they all just go home and leave poor victimised her alone to her many dreadful sorrows? Eventually she ran down, panting slightly so she could heave her bosom about, necklace sparkling, and there was an uncharacteristic media silence before an older woman I half-recognised glanced at the Eugene PD sergeant and took a careful pace forward.

“Mrs Hauptman, you seem to be under a misapprehension. We’re not here because of Ms Hauptman. We’re here because everyone was very impressed by your daughter’s amazing Civic Affairs lesson, and we’re wondering why you haven’t had anything to say about that.”

Christy blinked. “Oh, that nonsense. I couldn’t bear to watch. Poor Jesse’s only doing all that because Mercy Thompson makes her. It’s part of this stupid election stunt.”

There was another silence.

“If you really think that, Mrs Hauptman, I strongly suggest you go watch your daughter’s lesson right now, because any parent should be seriously proud of any seventeen-year-old who can do what she did.”

“What?”

Christy looked baffled, and at my handchop David cut sound. I knew my eyes were a little golden, and took a moment to swallow my temper.

“And there you have it. As to the slanders, I’ll need to talk to Ms Trevellyan, but as statute law’s a very poor tool for this one too, I will say, for the record, that the grounds for the divorce are public domain, so check for yourselves ; and yes, when Christy claimed pack protection from Guayota, and stayed here for a fortnight, then with pack-members for another six weeks, before rushing over when I went missing, courtesy of Manannán, I ordered her home to Eugene. Go figure.”

“I remember that.” Harris cocked her head. “Hair-dye?”

“Is it my fault she put her hand on the wrong bottle while using an en suite shower she’d been specifically warned not to presume to use?”

“Um … why do I think the answer might be yes, Ms Hauptman? Some might call that, ah, petty.”

“And supposing the answer was indeed yes, Ms Harris, some might call it seriously restrained, as well as effective. She moved out again.”

“Might, yeah. An ex forcing herself on you as a guest and then using your en suite is pretty rank. What colour hair-dye?”

“Electric blue. And we’re over time, while you’ve all had a bonus, so I think we’re done.”

Harris nodded. “I wouldn’t call this a bonus, Ms Hauptman, and my respect for you and Miss Hauptman just went up yet another notch. Do please give her my warmest congratulations.”

“That I can do, thanks, Ms Harris, because Adam and I are as proud of her as we should be, and some more. But I need to make calls.”

I left David’s crew to keep an eye on them, while he came with me to find Adam, who opened his arms and held me for a moment.

“What happened after I had David cut sound?”

“Not much. The media are all dreadful bullies. Then tears and a rush back inside.” Adam shook his head. “She’s her own worst enemy.”

“Oh yeah. Jenny?”

“Said suing was overkill, and you judged it well. We can’t help what a … _stupid_ mother she’s turned into.”

“No. Has Jesse called?”

“I called her, but she had you on already. Hung tough, and said her Birth Mom was only to be expected, but she’s hurting.”

“I know.” So was Adam. “Do you want to do anything? Auriele called Christy, but got voice-mail. Left a message offering a sympathetic ear.”

“Is there anything to do, Mercy? Corp?”

David shrugged. “Push for therapy as a condition when she gets busted for something, maybe, Sarge. But I think most of that press pack will take off. That wasn’t the story they wanted, they didn’t like it, and they do like Jesse just now. If a scandalmonger stays and worms in, make sure his or her editor knows libel will be acted on, with punitive damages for wilful malice. What if anything is Jesse going to say to anyone?”

“Up to her, Corp, but I’ll strongly advise nothing. Dignified silence. Her peers will respect it, and I don’t want her doing more than odd interviews.”

“Hear you, Sarge. Mercy?”

“What he said, David. If the story gets legs we might have to rethink, but I’ll be resistant even then. And you’re right Christy shot herself down as a credible witness on first outing. Huh. That line of Jesse’s might work — someone asks, she says, not going there, sir or madam. Have some dignity. We can all use it.

Adam squeezed me, “I like that. Not that I like anything about this.”

“Hear you again, Sarge. And you won’t like this either, but it’s a factor in tomorrow. Media could turn up in force here, or school, and so could your ex. Means reinforcing perimeters. Or Jesse comes, and it’s just one perimeter with everyone inside. Grant it’s then the only target, and she’s at risk with everyone, but suppose the worst and do you want her watching here? Who’d come calling? She’s not making those arguments to you, Sarge, nor to anyone that I’ve heard, but she’s thinking them. Wasn’t sure if you were seeing that past your gut reaction.”

Adam closed his eyes for a moment while I held his hand.

“Not enough, Corp. Thanks. Of course she is. Damn. Sorry, love.”

“You’re entitled to a damn or two, Adam. But the risk was always there, and one answer is for you to stay. Eggs, baskets. But you can’t. Why do you think Jesse can, except the power to make her?”

There was silence before David blew out a breath.

“She’s not like Bockman, Sarge. He couldn’t shoot, and he ran.” David looked at me. “Skinny kid from Detroit, lied to join up at seventeen, running from some gang threat, and never could hack it. Died in his first skirmish. We all knew he would, but it was the Sarge’s first loss, in his first week. All the ones.” And back to Adam. “Jesse can shoot, and she’s got spine. Pretty much everyone she most loves is walking into danger. And I’ll bet she feels guilty for pushing you both on this. I won’t say more, Sarge, but you wouldn’t have kept me away at seventeen, or yourself.”

Adam had an odd look, and shook his head. “Bockman. I never used to be able to block that memory, but since that easing I’d almost forgotten him. No wonder it was freaking me that Jesse is only seventeen. Ah hell. I know you’re right, Corp. It’s just … full briefing, Mercy?”

“Un huh. I’d have done this for you tomorrow, David, but not for others. Tell me if you agree.”

I explained about the transmission delay, with what Underhill had told me, adding that Zee and Tad would be there.

“It’s all if, if, and if, then maybe. Brent and Jill know. If it’d take longer for time dilation to spread, I’d feel differently, but a half-second …”

“Weird one. But yeah, I see why you aren’t briefing. Gonna say anything on the general band?”

“I expect an attack, in force, which will trigger magical protections. If time goes weird, and you hear me or Adam give an order telling you what to target, obey fast. And anything that is not a vamp or Lenka, on however many legs, is on our side unless someone in authority tells you otherwise.”

“Yo. That’s clear, and the Secret Service know about Jill, Joel, Irpa, Skuffles, and Coyote. Anything other than wolves, bears, tibicenas, trolls, and oversize coyotes expected?”

“Who knows, David? Ol’ Manitou River won’t be far away, and Zee might drop his glamour if he’s fighting. Adam, Jesse will be coming, yeah?”

“Yes.” He sounded resigned. “I feel what I feel, but so does she, and she has the right to choose.”

“Yup. I am not much less conflicted, but we are both right.” I gave him a kiss. “Who gets to tell her the ambivalent news?”


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

Principal Billings was a little ironic when I called early Friday to say Jesse wouldn’t be in, observing that meeting manitous wasn’t an excuse one heard every day, but lost the attitude when I told her heightened threat level meant we couldn’t adequately boost two perimeters. She’d seen my interview, with Christy’s, but hadn’t run a threat calculus.

“Christy showing up is possible. She’d be a distraction, pulling guards off Jesse, which might offer others opportunity, and with me and Adam in St Louis all day, in the open, we’re stretched. Having Jesse seen with us on TV will deter Christy. But Jesse’ll be back Monday, and we’re hoping the threat level will drop sooner than later.”

And not to be dead when it did, but I left her reassured. Breakfast was silent as we surfed, but if having one’s emotions picked over by a hatful of strangers for millions of others is never good, they were on Jesse’s side. There were, doubtless, other people than Christy who hadn’t seen PBS, though viewing numbers had been way high in all time zones and there were already clips on YouTube, but it was Christy’s attitude as much as evident ignorance that rankled. The Bad Mother is something of a taboo — Bad Fathers are standard, mothers get automatic sainthood — but Christy had managed to make herself a prime example, and they thought Jesse’s stellar performance was even more admirable given the burden of such a parent. Some recalled Dim Future’s argument that preternaturals were by definition unfit parents, noting the superior job Adam and I must have done. That was picked up in assessments of my interview, domesticity registered with thoughtful amusement. The _Washington Post_ op-ed made me laugh:

_Not everyone can introduce you to the notably polite and useful fairies at the bottom of her garden, nor make what looked like very good brownies while offering matter-of-fact eyewitness testimony that ghosts are not souls and can be exorcized. And the surprises continued, a leading presidential candidate answering difficult questions, knowing history and theology, putting interviewers at ease, and showing considerable grace under pressure while reminding us all that threatening those she loves is foolish, and that her responses are precise, proportional, and effective. By the end I would not have been surprised to discover my own hair had turned electric blue, and the sense of political hope and invigoration Mercy Hauptman generates with every appearance is in telling contrast to the extraordinary paralysis that still grips both National Committees, every bit as delinquently as her understated rebuke to their silence about those shots implied. And after today’s scheduled events who knows what colour anyone’s hair will be, including Ol’ Manitou River’s? (Except, in the case of other candidates, confused yellow.) What is happening is profoundly bewildering but increasingly inspiring, and I for one am taking Mercy Hauptman’s (often very good) jokes much more seriously than the many tired, sour, and depressing jokes that are her opponents._

“Ouch.” Jesse grinned as she finished reading over my shoulder and slid back into her chair. “Confused Yellow would so not sell as hair-dye.”

“I dunno, Jesse. It’s called peroxide, isn’t it?”

She shuddered. “Stone age. That stuff is toxic. But saying you do good jokes and they are bad ones is a nice line.”

“Un huh. Did you get an answer from Penny?”

“Dwayne. It’s the lights. Surprise. He’ll try to swap in LEDs.”

“Not sure Billings would find Marsh Sedge to Forest Foliage a convincing case for expenditure from the stretched maintenance budget.”

“And insane as that is, Dwayne will be making a point about ungreen fluorescents, way greener LEDs, lower bills, and broadcasts with strong green concerns. Which Marsh Sedge is anyway.”

I laughed. “That’s my Jesse. How’re you doing inside?”

“I’m OK, Mom. Yeah, Birth Mom’s now out there, but as I am too it’s better this way, I figure. No nightmare itch about that one any more. And the dignity line’s good.”

“Your line in the first place. But that’s a fine way of dealing, and you can work out some rage this morning. Range session, but exercise first.” I overrode protest. “Seriously, Jesse. If you’re gonna walk into a high-risk zone, you’re limber and sharp, and know what you’re gonna do if and when. For you the most likely action will be firing. Make sure you have the Missouri license.”

She swallowed. “You think I’ll be aiming to … dismiss.”

“If it happens and you’ve got a heart-shot, you bet. But slugs have a lot of momentum, and a shot anywhere can knock a vamp off course or off balance. Everyone will work out — not to rubbery exhaustion, but a light sweat, getting in the zone. Then showers, early lunch, briefing, go.”

A glance round the table won uniform nods, and she sighed.

“What happened to days off school? Workout gear it is.”

We had to stagger use of gym and range. Adam would have liked to bring the whole pack and ring me five deep, but that wasn’t the point, they had jobs anyway, and Tom Yearman had wolves with the PD at Gateway Park. But besides Warren, Darryl, Auriele, and Joel, Adam was borrowing the Freed, under Ramona, while David and his crew, Dan and the Joes, Brent, and Jill made another eleven. Zee, Tad, and Irpa were meeting us Underhill, Irpa collecting Frank and Rachel, Jeremiah and Ros. Coyote was getting himself there. Ramona knew about the problem, and the Freed would work out before heading over.

With me inside the Secret Service were at a loose end, and watched with professional approval as we worked though stretches, weights, light and heavy bags, pulled-contact sparring, two hard minutes of Skuffles-in-the-Middle, and, after checking weapons (though not, to Jesse’s regret, harpoons, which had proven too awkward), the range. They picked up fast on the atmosphere, my gut conviction of imminence communicating itself strongly enough to make for a sense of impending combat. It might be nerves fooling me, but I really didn’t think so, and neither did my magic. Something powerful was moving somewhere that wasn’t Ol’ Manitou River — maybe the luck, the dead, or Undead, maybe something else in play — and I’d bet the sense of _spannungsbogen_ in the Garden would be higher, that final half-inch of draw as release beckoned. As I finished up the senior agent gave me a look.

“You really do think it’s today, don’t you?”

“Call it a feeling in my water. Logic says Bonarata should steer clear of the power that’ll assemble, and if he understood it he might, but I don’t think he does and magic tends to attract magic. Are the St Louis squad good for briefing?”

“They are. Surprised, as principals don’t usually brief, but respectful.”

“Thanks. I promise not to confuse anyone more than I have to.”

His smile was wry, and I took off for the shower, followed by the problem of dressing. I went for a deep russet skirt and blouse combo, a high collar covering a heavy off-white ballistic tee that fell to mid-thigh. Adam had got it from somewhere, and though it wouldn’t stop large calibres at short range, it would stop or deflect smaller ones and spread impact energy a little. The blouse didn’t work so well with my gold chain, though, and I chose a pendant Coyote had given me last birthday, after I’d surprised him by commemorating the day of the River Devil with, not a Purple Heart, but a coyote-brindled version, commissioned from a jeweller Auriele knew in Portland. He’d been tickled, and his response had been a beautiful polished section of branch from the Petrified Forest in Arizona, a rough circle with astonishingly vivid streaks of red, blue, white, and coppery brown. The back was unpolished, and I’d superglued a loop of cotton yarn that went around a button to ensure it wouldn’t swing up if I had to roll or jag. Then it was my other accessories — Carnwennan on one hip, Zee’s wooden dagger behind it, Glock on the other, Thunderbird’s feather, cloak, which obligingly folded itself back, and Manannán’s Bane. Adam, delayed by a call, came in holding a handset and whistled.

“Looking good, love. Ramona’s on her way. I’ve got Tom Yearman on the line, saying crowds are already building big. Gateway Park and space over the river filling, plus people in tourist boats hanging mid-stream, so they’re under pressure to put up local repeater screens.”

“Hell.” That wouldn’t do, and my brain clicked back to my Google session, then sideways to riverboats. “No can do, Tom. Explanations later. For now, repeater screens at Busch Stadium and the Rams’ Dome, both close and taking tens of thousands.” And far enough away the time-lag would not be easily seen. “And scream loudly about riverboats. I doubt Ol’ Manitou River would harm them, but hey, Mississippi manifesting, who knows what the water will do, crowded riverboats right on top of it, public hazard. It’ll keep the PD busy and distract excluded media guys.”

<OK, Mercy. I take it this matters?>

“Might be critical, Tom, or nothing. Can’t take the chance. My gut is telling me tonight’s the night.”

<Hear you. I’ll do my damnedest. See you soon.>

“Yeah. Go safe, Tom.”

“Good thinking, love. Stadia should work.” Adam’s old-fashionedness extended to correct plurals. “And the boats are idiotic. Someone should have thought of that.”

“Me, probably.”

“You just did. I meant in St Louis. Sinking even one would mean double-digit casualties.” He blinked. “And I’ll stop venting. Handset’s from my study. Darryl’s got a checklist of representatives arriving safely, and governors. Caroline, Penny, and crews are already there.”

“Right.” I glanced out of the window. “Ramona turning in, a Benny’s van behind. I’ll defend a tuna and sweetcorn, but I’d make it a quick shower.”

“I’m gone.”

And he was, at a wolf-trot, so I headed down and, after a word with Darryl, briefly out. Those of the Freed coming on four legs had already changed, and their wolves enjoyed coach travel, so it was something of a sight as Ramona pulled up. She grumbled about the damage wolf-claws did to her nice leather upholstery, but wolves using seat-backs to avoid the jam in the aisle was a small price for their cheer as they spilled out, two-legged packmates following more decorously. They were happy to tote Benny’s boxes, and as we flooded back into hall and kitchen the smells brought everyone in short order, Adam in a power suit that wasn’t hurt by the Glock on his belt and slicked-back hair.

I wasn’t the only magic-user eating against possible power drain, and despite nerves and disinclination to be heavy-stomached extra slices went down fast enough. Between two with decent amounts of pepperoni I choked down high-cal emergency rations Adam had rustled up from the SEALs, a cross between Datrex and Grizzly Bear bars that got in even more calories with very little taste except disguising sugar. It was impressive chemical engineering, but they weren’t going to offer Benny any competition at all.

Then it was time to brief, and even with the four-legged sitting neatly Adam’s study was crowded, so I didn’t summon Skuffles, who knew it all anyway. Frank and Rachel were patched in from Philly, Jeremiah and Ros from Lexington, with wolves who’d accompany them. There were surprised looks at the numbers from Secret Service guys in St Louis, then a cooler sweep of appraising eyes, and I took a breath, seeing Caroline, Penny, and crews present as asked, despite limitations it imposed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time. There are five things. First, Dwayne and Al, those three seconds, please. Second, logistics, and that’s Adam’s department.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Jesse and I are coming, as is Warren Smith, while Frank and Rachel Lafferty, Jeremiah and Ros Stourbridge, and Irpa Thorsden will join the principals before we arrive. Secret Service, you have the perimeter, and that’s your business. Ramona Velasquez and the Freed Pack, on two legs and four, will be on the crowd, watching and scenting to supplement Tom Yearman’s wolves and the PD. Jesse’s usual trio of Dan and the Joes are on her, reinforced by Zee and Tad Adelbertsmiter. David and his crew are in trios, on me and Mercy, who will also have Brent and Jill. Darryl, Auriele, and Joel are on Frank and Rachel. Jeremiah and Ros have these three wolves from their pack, on two legs, and Irpa will have another troll, glamoured human. Clear?”

“Clear, Mr Hauptman.” The senior agent had been jotting and recited it back to Adam. “That’s a lot of people with guns if any shooting starts.”

“Tell me, Agent. But we know what we’re doing. Mercy?”

“Don’t assume guns only, Agent. There are blades and magic too. Moving on, three, despite what should be very good reasons for nothing untoward to happen, my gut is telling me something will. Bottom line, we expect to be attacked at some point today, and it has nothing to do with Ol’ Manitou River — it’s those shots fired last week. The most probable time is leaving Gateway Park or the motorcade. If it happens, the attack will trigger a magical defence you will all experience, time dilation. Extending from me and the cloak, time will run at a fraction of normal for those around me, but within that zone you can move at your own speed. The attackers will remain at whatever their top normal speed is, but we will have time on our side by a ratio, though I don’t know exactly what. Therefore, four, Secret Service agents, if you become aware you’re in a zone of time dilation and hear me or Adam give an order telling you what to target, do it fast and don’t try double-guessing our priorities — there will be magical threat assessment involved you can’t duplicate. Clear?”

The senior agent thought about it. “I can accept that, Ms Hauptman, if this time dilation is for real. It has not been in any brief.”

“Too right, Agent. And it isn’t something you demonstrate or practice — very serious magic is involved. But I assure you it is real, and the second I know an attack is coming I will start to extend it. When it reaches you everything outside will look half-frozen in slow motion. But by then Adam and I will have been inside it for real-time tenths that will subjectively be whole seconds, so we will be able to make a full, or fuller, assessment, of who and what is coming at us. Yes?”

“Yes. That makes sense, for some value of sense. You imply a ratio of … slow to normal time that’s in … double digits?”

“At least, and I’ll try for more, Agent, but the energy drain is very heavy. And Al, Dwayne, I have _no_ idea what the effect on your cameras will be, but if it happens max the frames per second.”

They agreed, giving me looks. So did Caroline, Penny, Vince, and Don.

“Finally, five, assuming it happens and we have a volley of shots and other action, _you_ are expecting magical stuff — avatars shifting, Joel as tibicena, Skuffles, trolls and Zee dropping glamour. PD and NPS guys are not. I’ve nothing against any of them but I don’t know them, so as soon as shooting and whatever stops, assuming no-one’s down, please check anyone carrying you can see and make sure they don’t go idiot pop just because someone’s suddenly a bear, or seven-foot-tall with a sword, or a twenty-foot troll plus club. Those are all on our side. Ramona, that’s for you and the Freed as well — you’ve got the speed to disarm if necessary. And along the same lines, there is establishing a secure perimeter around any scene that’s left, and keeping the crowd calm. Don’t hesitate to use an Alpha roar, or dominance. Or trolls, if willing — they get people’s attention well.”

“You could say, Mercy. Points taken.”

“Then that’s it, for me. Everyone’s clear on logistics, that if there’s an attack time dilation means taking targeting orders from me or Adam, and that we need to check any PD or NPS … mis-reactions. Yes?”

Everyone was, and after we’d checked the GPS co-ords and photo the NPS had sent, we signed off. When I’d told David’s crew, Dan, and the Joes they had one-day, two-way Underhill permits I’d done safety drills, but repeated them for everyone, adding that we might have to wait in the Garden of Manannán’s Death.

“I’m not going to explain, but if anyone wants to say anything about any fountain, statue, or duckpond you might see there, wait until you know I’m in a _very_ mellow mood. Let’s go.”

Wolves and others blinked, but started organising themselves under Adam’s direction, and as I burned off a little tension in a coyote shake the senior agent eyed me.

“Good briefing, Ms Hauptman, but you do keep pulling rabbits out of hats. Slow time is useful for a bodyguard. Transmission delay in case a vampire translocating in is judging its move from TV?”

“Yup.”

“Could work more than one way.”

“Yeah. But we’re expecting them to be off, and Bonarata’s not good at planning for mistakes. It’s one more factor we know about and he probably won’t. Going up against anyone that powerful you play all the odds you can.”

“Right.” He considered me. “You’ve got serious spine, Ms Hauptman. Your husband and daughter too. Good luck.”

“Thanks, agent. We need all we can get.”

I sent messages to Zee, Irpa, and Coyote, and tallied the crowd. The cloak had to expand to let everyone get hands or mouths on hem, but it was used to that and let me know when we were set. Mindful of Jesse as well as Underhill newbies I went more formal than I usually was these days to ask it to open a way to the place of its making for — I named everyone — all passing through with the let of its maker, and gave a count before we took the three steps.

The Garden once again afforded a large enough clearing for everyone, and there was still no sign of excavations, but I’d been right about _spannungsbogen_ , tension within fountain and statue sky-high. It wasn’t helped by Zee and Tad staring, and Underhill was there with Edythe, so I swiftly named first-timers, receiving a nod before Edythe took over.

“Mercedes Elf-friend, I have had no clear vision, but some hours ago, by Overhill time, a great disturbance began in the near future. Something happens soon that has deep effects across a very broad front.”

“I am glad to hear it, Edythe. Today soon?”

“I believe so, but cannot aver it.”

“Right. Is there anything you can judge from long experience?”

“Without a vision there is only awareness of an imminent … vortex, you might say. A decision-point where things end and begin. It _might_ be anything. But awareness was swift when it came, which means it affects me, and when there _is_ an obvious candidate …”

I was certainly being one of those, and nodded.

“Right. If you will, Edythe, without fear or favour, and acknowledging all impossible uncertainties, your best guess?”

Her gaze narrowed as she heard that _impossible_. “A guess, then, and no more. Your commitment has not changed, so it is not you, but it may be the Undead have committed, in some way.”

Bonarata had to have been a busy vamp, and probably hadn’t translocated in with much time to spare. Check the site, and decide it would do. It made sense, and wasn’t the only evidence.

“That rings for me, Edythe. Underhill, may I ask when the tension around here jacked up to its present level?”

“Ah. I thought you would sense it. And yes, by Overhill time, it might be when Edythe became aware of her vortex.” She gestured to an opening arch. “But here are Irpa and the others.”

“Surprise.”

“What is, Mercy? And woo! That incomplete triad has some fizz going.”

“You bet.” I waited until Frank, Rachel, Jeremiah, and Ros plus their wolves had emerged. “Everyone, we are even more probably on for an attack today. Edythe says time hits a vortex very soon, and Underhill says the would-be triad’s fizz ratcheted up about the same time. Two big magical ducks have lined up with my gut certainty, so it’s when not if.”

“Right. What is it with you and ducks, Mercy?”

I grinned. “Ask the pond when it’s there. You’re staying Ms Thorsden?”

“Have to campaigning, but Vanna’s coming as Ms Anonymous. She’ll be here any time, and you ought to meet.”

“OK. Have Jeremiah’s wolves been named to you, Underhill?”

“They have, Mercedes. I always know whom I contain, but I appreciate your courtesy.”

Edythe gave me a look, deducing, I thought, that ap Lugh might not, but for once I gave her one right back, and she said nothing. Fortunately, Vanna soon turned up by arch, and in a sensible dress and flats, with an oversize bag from which a full clipboard peeked, looked every inch the efficient PA. It meant more introductions, but I left it to Irpa to explain the fizz and rising certainty, and took leave of Edythe and Underhill. Giving the cloak GPS co-ords still struck me as half-way silly, however it worked, and the familiar thought was a comfort as we took those next three steps. Whether the cloak had planned some distracting humour or just liked the NPS I wasn’t sure, but with the second step I became aware the arch before me had the same weighted-catenary curve as the bigger steel one it was close to. I sent amused thanks, and the cloak gusted roses as we emerged into a circle of Secret Service agents. Tom Yearman, the St Louis PD captain and the NPS guy were there, a photographer, and Penny and Caroline with crews, on different sides. There was barely room for our numbers and cameras had to scoot backward, but as soon as Adam and I did wolf introductions Tom took Ramona and the Freed, pointing out where his wolves were, and I got a clearer sense of the place.

We were sixty-some yards inland of the Arch, north of the entrance to the underground visitor centre. That was closed, like the Arch stairs and elevators, but people were all around. Sturdy cordons, with a police and wolf line now supplemented by the Freed, were keeping a corridor twenty yards across that ran more than halfway to the line of the Gateway Arch before cordons angled north and south to curve around the legs of the Arch down to the river. Crowds stretched as far as I could see, a solid mass of faces making a lot of noise. Within the wider clear area before the Arch a gaggle of governors waited, representatives forming their own phalanx with some Army Engineers in dress uniform. There was also, after all, a huddle of rivals, divided by party but in more sympathy with one another than anyone else, hanging in awkward lobes around the senior senators in each camp. Closer, Missouri was waiting with the Mayor, Coyote in best buckskin beside him, and as soon as I’d shaken hands with the PD Captain, who looked at guns and daggers but said only he was with me as liaison, and checked the NPS guy was happy with his photos, we went to say hello.

I wouldn’t have bet a red cent on Coyote not having said something to goose Missouri and the Mayor, but he was being helpful, his easy greeting to Jesse forestalling any retreat into formality. I named principals, including Zee, officially representing Gray Lords, but let guards begin whatever slide into peripheral anonymity they could manage. Al and Dwayne knew to keep them as out of shot as possible, and had juicier images available, because Frank, Warren, Irpa, and Jeremiah all kicked Missouri’s political senses right back in, and preternaturals were letting age show in their eyes. Nor did I let him settle, feeling Adam’s amusement and seeing Ros’s and Rachel’s as I shifted register.

“How are your fellow governors doing?”

“Ah … well enough, I dare say, Ms Hauptman. The Columbia Basin group are being … very helpful, irrespective of … affiliation. We were … surprised by the, um, representatives you have selected.”

“By positive discrimination, you mean?”

“Ah … yes, frankly.”

“Frankly’s always good with me, sir. And yeah, presenting an Ol’ Manitou River of colour with a bunch of Anglos who shy from thinking of the Mississippi Basin’s history didn’t seem wise. More importantly, you’re aware of the representatives’ geographical range and connections to the lives of the river?”

“Ah … yes.” Those _Ahs_ could get to annoy me, but he was trying. “That logic is clear. Your staffwork is impressive.”

“Networks as much as staff on that one, sir. But I am as deadly serious about river freight as about pollution and bison.” He blinked. “You’ll be central in the WashU conferences, so we should talk about that soon. You closed the river to corral those tourist boats?”

“Ah … yes, I did. Mr Yearman was very clear that crowding a great manitou was not a good idea.”

“Un huh. Did commercial traffic squawk much?”

I finally got a smile.

“Less than I expected. It also made the Secret Service much happier.”

“I bet. But note that less, hey? For my money, _they_ get that they want Ol’ Manitou River as a friend. Safety, S&R, flood warnings, piloting — a lot of stuff in this for them. And St Louis is a natural hub for river business, with Cairo and New Orleans. You could talk to Illinois and Louisiana about that. Shall we head on down?”

The nudge towards opportunistic politics settled him and the Mayor a bit, and their uncertainty over what would be happening meant they were happy to defer to me. All the waiting groups were looking at me anyway, so when we were close enough to be heard without having to shout I drifted to a halt, Dwayne staying on me while Al went wider.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Assuming most of you will consent to be read by Ol’ Manitou River, it’s going to be a day of ever so many introductions. Starting with a bunch more is Pelion on Ossa, and lots of you already know one another, as your … self-sorting indicates, so how about mingling? Representatives, slate candidates, make yourselves known to your state governors, while I say hello to those new to me? Thanks.”

Frank, Rachel, Jeremiah, and Ros were primed to move towards governors, Coyote’s summons pulled First People among representatives, and the rest followed. I saw the premiers of BC and Alberta bringing Saskatchewan, and angled towards them, shaking hands and taking them to meet Engineers — the Chief, his principal Deputy, and the Deputy Commanding General for Civil and Emergency Ops. I’d thought the Man had been exaggerating, but they really were happy I’d included them, and if anyone could imagine what having the river on our side might practically mean, they could. They’d been with representatives because as soon as they’d seen the lists I’d given the Secret Service they’d grokked it geographically and through occupations, and as Civil and Emergency Ops was African-American grokked ethnicity too, and been granted permission to be read by the Man. Better still, though their respect for and curiosity about me and Jesse were right there, they were sharply interested in Adam, as a vet, Warren, for his history, and Irpa, for bridges she had built and ideas about protecting them from earthquakes. The Canadians were into that, and I made sure to speak to Saskatchewan, pointing out to all three that their positions outside US politics and history were a valuable resource for the new Basin group, before Adam, Jesse, and I slid away to meet governors, the PD Captain tagging along.

My rivals were still mostly huddled. A couple of younger female outsiders excluded from the DC show had been brave and stepped out to talk to representatives, but the rest were still shooting themselves in the feet by looking so marginalised. Really, though, was that my problem? as I remarked to an appreciative Washington and Oregon while they steered us through their peers. I’d put the question about being read to governors, and they could do the political calculus, but I offered reassurances about it being painless and Medicine Wolf’s impeccable record in discretion. Adam and Jesse backed me, Adam adding that it had helped him with war memories, and Jesse how kind it had been and how much she was looking forward to meeting a second great manitou. With at least one camera always on us those were also reassurances for the public, as was news of the Man’s permission regarding the Corps of Engineers officers.

“They already think Basin-size,” I told New York and Georgia, “and are up the sharp end with levees south of Cairo. I didn’t ask the President to allow it without good reason.”

“You instigated the idea?” New York gave me a speculative look. “You do push buttons, Ms Hauptman, don’t you just? I’m pretty marginal here, with just that little bit of the Allegheny in the Mississippi Basin. The Carolinas too, and Michigan. What sort of role do you see us playing?”

“Up to you, sir, but ideally a helpful one. Canadian premiers and for the Colorado group Mexican governors offer extra-national perspective. You have a different kind of distance, yet that bit of the Allegheny means you’re in on any or all of flood control, dam removal, hydropower, and river freight. And for you, sir” — I turned to Georgia — “we are radically recontextualising that water war you and Tennessee have been having for ever. All sorts of opportunities. Dam demolition will mean sorting out drowned thalwegs, and we are very wasteful people — lots of slack to take up if we really set minds to it, controlling usage and adding recycling. As we need way better filtration of discharge, limiting extraction will also be a long-term cost-saver.”

The water war was a sure route to his heart, and he knew what I meant about thalwegs, because if the law says a state line is the median navigable line of a river, and the river gets drowned in an artificial lake, it takes more than GPS and sonar to sort out where that border runs. We left him explaining to New York and bagged the rest of the governors as swiftly as we could, greeting representatives along the way, and finding all the caution and uncertainty you’d expect with a rising sense of excitement. They were beginning to fire ideas at one another, sparked by new connections and juxtapositions, and messages about global audience figures didn’t hurt. They were also aware I was manipulating the blocking of a world-stage, and with only my rivals to go I made a point of seeking out the two women with an offered hand. With a deep breath one began to apologise for her party’s silence and her own, and I held up a hand.

“Not on either of you, ma’am. You weren’t part of that DC circus, and I know of no insult you’ve offered. Your silences were too politic, but I understand, and you’re sensible enough to have mingled as asked, so thank you. First impressions?”

“A lot of interesting people who think the world of you, Ms Hauptman. You hosted them all to be read by Medicine Wolf?”

“Arranged, yes, hosted, no, though their needs were looked to. It ensured Medicine Wolf could brief Ol’ Manitou River and gave them experience of a great manitou before they get more on global TV.”

“Yes, I realised that. You’re also driving home the racial point. Points.”

“Yup. No burking it this time, but today it’s mutely explicit, if that makes sense. Tomorrow at Sacajawea State Park I’ll address it directly, because once I do it’s a campaign issue, however it’s way bigger than anyone’s campaign.” I shrugged. “Spills over, I know, but I’m trying to observe the distinction.”

“I’ve noticed, Ms Hauptman. But my, ah, party colleagues remain …”

“In denial?” I asked cheerfully. “Deep water? A blue funk? Let’s go find out.”

Adam and Jesse swept them along, and with all my rivals’ eyes on me, making it easy, I gave them a soulful survey amid deepening silence.

“Well, gentlemen, you do all look very dull dogs, standing about in your collective sulk, but we need to get on so I’ll ask your sensible colleagues here to make introductions, east to west. Be aware my willingness to shake hands does not mean your various kneejerk and just jerk insults are forgiven or forgotten. Your silence over shots fired at our house also means I am still looking for things to drop you all in from as great a height as I can manage. But Ol’ Manitou River is waiting, so, going this way, I’m Mercy Hauptman, Elf-friend and Troll-friend, among other things. My husband and mate, Adam. Our daughter, Jesse. And” — I pointed with Manannán’s Bane — “my not-exactly but very helpful father, Coyote.”

He solemnly held up a hand. “How, notably-foolish-even-for-the-Beltway palefaces.”

My self-naming, as if they needed it, caused murmuring, and Coyote’s deadpan joke triggered laughter. I gave him a daughterly look.

“Now, now.”

There was more laughter that didn’t much offset a truly unpleasant experience. They were all feeling my scorn and returned a furious, fearfully fretting dislike. More than one reminded me of Paul’s addiction to bigotries and use of them as psychic fuel, and their grips were mostly weak, though one senior senator had a reputation as a crusher, and tried it. I squeezed back hard enough to surprise him.

“Trying to crush my hand, Senator? How … original. I can’t say better luck next time, but you’ll be shaking Adam’s hand in a moment, and he can benchpress four times his own weight.”

He let go with alacrity, and Adam switched Jesse in for a perfunctory shake before exerting real pressure and speaking in a low growl.

“Politics means I let insults to Mercy pass, Senator. Doesn’t mean I forgive them, the let does _not_ extend to assaults, and you now have no leeway whatever. Nor does your federal rank give you any immunity. Ask your old pal Heuter.”

Al lingered on the senator’s shocked face as we passed on without another glance, Caroline murmuring a comment about research showing how many men used grip-strength to intimidate smaller men and women. After a beat while I shook the next hand, she added that not realising by now that _machismo_ didn’t work on me seemed a further indicator of really not having read the memo, and I shot her a laughing glance. The other senior senator was wiser, apologising for failing to condemn the shots but blaming the National Committee, and I nodded.

“Late and weak, senator, but better than nothing, so thank you.”

He did better with Jesse, offering congratulations pleasantly. And we were done. Eyes were still on me, and when I gave Manannán’s Bane a twirl silence was swift.

“Thank you, everyone. Perhaps you’d all now move to the river-steps. Preternatural and local emissaries with me, Basin governors and other politicians to my left, representatives to my right.”

Coyote drifted up as I waved to crowds, and saw Jesse do the same for kiddos on adult shoulders.

“Those rivals really are a dopey lot.”

His voice was low enough to be private, and I nodded.

“And nasty with it. The women are OK. All set?”

“Yes. The manitou appreciates the absence of boats.” He grinned. “I was hoping someone might fall overboard so it could rescue them, but it’s not to be.”

“Happily. And no pushing anyone in.”

“No River Devil to find, so no need, riparian daughter. I won’t do it just for fun, you know.”

I gave him a dirty look, and Jesse gave him a swift prod.

“Behave, Gramps.”

“It’s a distraction, Graught. She’d only fret about something else.”

“Well, find a different one.”

We came around the line of café buildings along the top of the river steps and the expanse of great brown river lay before us, clustered boats up- and downstream indicating the limits of the closed zone. Jesse hadn’t seen it before in person, and whistled.

“OK. Seriously big. And muddy. Googlemaps isn’t so good with things like that.”

“About six-fifty yards wide, Jesse, and two hundred thousand plus cubic feet per second, which more than doubles at the Ohio confluence.”

“Just call it a lot of water, Graught.”

“Instead of Ol’ Manitou River?”

He laughed, ruffling her hair, and Adam and I shared the thought that Coyote’s distractions had more than one target. The crowds were solid on both sides, filling Sullivan Boulevard, save a strip fifty yards wide in front of the arch, and I gave more waves as we went down to the middle of the uppermost landing. Preternaturals formed up, and Zee slid forward to shift role to Fae emissary. He’d resume bodyguarding afterwards, and the apparent subordination amused him, probably for the same reason he used maximally unglamorous glamour, though it might also be another miscue for Bonarata. Governors and representatives assembled without too much jostling for position, Senator Stupid loudly complaining that he should have been consulted about arrangements. A degree of solemnity settled in as the tableau was completed, talk ebbed among the crowds, and I gave Coyote a nod.

He went coyote-headed, and slowly stepped down to the middle landing before beginning a shuffling, foot-sliding dance accompanied by more of those noises you can’t make with either human or coyote voices — part drone, part spirit incantation, and part who knew what? It started at a slow tempo that increased over a minute before he spun to face out over the river, arms wide, and howled, a long pure note that resonated in the air. And Ol’ Man River just stopped rolling along.


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

It was only for a second, but it was real. Directly in front of the Arch the current stopped, downstream water level dropping precipitously as the upstream side bulged, and Ol’ Manitou River rose out of the trough before allowing the current to drain downstream again with a foaming rush that diminished to a patch of turbulence. The avatar was a good twenty feet tall, in First Person leathers, and the features were Amerindian, with the sharp nose and cheekbones of the Northern Plains, but skin-tone was darker than any native I’d ever seen, with that glossy sheen the darkest-complected African Americans can have. The hair was long, straight, and impossibly braided, like so much of the river, and the eyes like Medicine Wolf’s, silver-on-gold and deep as time. It took a moment to survey the tableau, and when Coyote, fully human, gave a cheerful wave it raised one huge hand and headed to the bank, climbing the steps to Sullivan Boulevard in a single bouncing stride, and crossing the road in two. I started down with Adam and Jesse, and we met with it on the lowest landing and us beside Coyote on the middle one.

“How, Big Fellah.”

_How, Coyote. These humans are even more numerous than the buffalo once were._

The mindvoice was like Medicine Wolf’s, but deeper, more Paul Robeson, and I saw Caroline and Penny straighten as they murmured to throat-mikes. Silver-on-gold eyes rested on me.

“Tell me. This is the one Medicine Wolf knows, my daughter She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It.”

I gave a knee dip, as did Jesse, and Adam bowed.

“How, manitou, sir. Is it still OK to call this form Ol’ Manitou River?”

 _It is, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. I like the song, the joke, and your gifts of music. That is a fine human talent._ It looked around. _This will be easier if I sit._

Two strides brought it to our landing, and it sat cross-legged with Amerindian ease.

_The one of my kind whose guardian avatar you call Medicine Wolf advised me to read you first, to understand the contexts of this meeting most fully. Are you willing I should?_

“I am, Ol’ Manitou River, but I have one request. Did Medicine Wolf tell you about what we call sheets of glass? Insulation from bad memories that are stirred up?”

_It did, and I will do likewise for all._

“Thank you. Please go ahead.”

I met its eyes, and my life flashed before my own one more time, though flashing wasn’t quite it. It wasn’t exactly skimming earlier events, but it felt more like confirming what I assumed had been Medicine Wolf’s account than deeper searching, and much more intense curiosity kicked in with recent history. My path to the Medicine Wolf Accords interested it a lot, as did Guayota, and especially the last few months, shimmering complexities and contingencies of today turning in my mind as it absorbed them. It was useful, something in the distorted time or magical matrix letting me see the shape that had been eluding me, with possible outcomes, and I was aware of its observation as I traced projections. Then magic withdrew, and Adam was grasping my hand.

“Nearly a minute, love.”

_Yes. Much was of great interest, and Medicine Wolf is a wise neighbour. You are a most complex magical being, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, and your defeat of that wandering volcanic manitou a remarkable victory. Your present plans are also compelling._

It knew it couldn’t mention vamps on a general channel, and was accepting my parameters, so I nodded relieved gratitude.

“Thank you, Ol’ Manitou River. Meet my husband and mate, Adam Hauptman, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, and my stepdaughter Jesse or She Steps Sideways Too, still at school but already rocking the world.”

_Adam Hauptman. Jesse Hauptman. Are you willing I should read you?_

They were, and it did. It felt sneaky, but I was paying attention with my nose, and while the scents that came and went for Adam were familiar, Vietnam smells of fire, jungle, and death were a fair bit weaker than when Medicine Wolf first read him, and I rejoiced. For Jesse smells of fear and Kerrigan’s blood were also weaker, though the Christy-scent that spiked with the present was newly laced with alcohol, breath mints, and a despairing contempt that abruptly dropped away.

 _Is that glass acceptable, Jesse Hauptman?_ The mindvoice came to Adam and me as well as Jesse, but no-one else, though I had no idea how I knew. _Your feelings about the one who bore you are not mine to determine, but I offer insulation from their rawness._

“It is very acceptable, thank you, Ol’ Manitou River.” Adam and I had hands on her shoulders, and she turned to look at us. “It’s OK, Mom, Dad. Just those Birth Mom Blues, a little.”

Global TV or no I gave her a swift hug, releasing her to Adam and shifting to face Ol’ Manitou River and shield them from Dwayne.

“Our thanks also, Ol’ Manitou River. It hasn’t been an easy week for Jesse, one way and another. But there are some who would offer formal greetings, and these wonderful people from all over your territory waiting on us. I thought we’d go by what we think of as tributaries, clockwise and downstream, then come down your main stem. Is that alright?”

_You are welcome, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. I do not approve of maternal neglect and abuse. And very much so — I am all about periphery to centre, more so than Medicine Wolf._

I nodded, because that made geographical sense, and set about it. First up were Missouri and the Mayor, holding down nerves, and Missouri set a precedent that mattered by consenting to be read, after which the Mayor had no choice. I added the PD Captain for awareness of law and the day’s wider security arrangements, but breathed roses, not wanting to know their secrets, and from the calm all were left with there’d been enough bad for them to be given glass. Then Coyote spoke formally for Elder Spirits, Zee and Irpa offered the Fae’s respect, welcoming the great manitou’s renewed contact with humans and affirming willingness to participate in practical outcomes of the conferences, Warren, Jeremiah, and Ros represented wolves, I slid in Frank, Rachel, and Engineers, and we were on to representatives. Coyote tapped my shoulder.

“I’ve got things to do, and you don’t need me here anymore. I’ll be around, though. Good luck with everything.”

With a farewell to the Big Fellah it acknowledged he went, and I shook off uncertainties. I started on the upper waters of the Red River, moving down to Shreveport, then north to the Ouachita, Cimarron, Canadian, with Oklahoma City, and the Arkansas from Pueblo through Wichita to Little Rock. It wasn’t fast because Ol’ Manitou River took a moment to say hello and check consent, with another after reading to map what we called its many branches onto its sense of itself, repeating river names. Slowly we got on to the Osage, Republican and Smoky Hill combining into the Kansas, Denver on the South Platte and Platte proper, Niobrara, Cheyenne, Little Missouri, Powder, Bighorn, with Billings, and Yellowstone. About a quarter of representatives were Anglo, an eighth Hispanic, but proportions of African Americans and First People shifted as we went south to north, west to east, and so did Amerindian faces, offering a map of somatypes. Next up was the Missouri main stem, Great Falls to Omaha and Kansas City, pulling in the Milk and James, with Sioux Falls, and the Des Moines, Iowa, and Minnesota completed the western lobe of the watershed.

The NPS guy had arranged drinks from the closed café, and I accepted chocolate that was a bit oversweet but welcome as we moved on to the St Croix, Chippewa, Wisconsin, Rock, Illinois, Kaskaskia, and Wabash, with Indianapolis. Columbus came with the Scioto, then Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Louisville in a rush as we went down the Ohio main stem. Home stretch was the Kanawha, Green, Cumberland with Nashville, Tennessee, and Yazoo, with a representative from Vicksburg I really liked who knew her Faulkner and Delta Blues. She hung us up a little with strong opinions of Robert Johnson’s legacy I didn’t mind at all, nor Ol’ Manitou River, then it was the Mississippi main stem, Minneapolis to Davenport, St Louis and East St Louis, Cairo, Memphis, Baton Rouge, and New Orleans. I rotated my head, easing neck muscles, and Ol’ Manitou River smiled.

_There are many, but I am large, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. I have never had so many names, but you have my thanks for this assembly of those who dwell within my territory and work my waters is most helpful. You have also assembled leaders of political divisions you impose on my scope?_

“I have, Ol’ Manitou River. As a cross-reference, I suggest going alphabetically this time.”

Adam snagged me another chocolate, and on we went with assembled governors, the Mississippi Basin followed by helpful Columbians and uncertain Coloradans. We were through my hard-learned Mississippi Basin alphabet and on to Columbians when I heard Senator Stupid raising his voice to Oregon as she shifted past him to join the line.

“It is absurd this ridiculous arrangement has been allowed. You aren’t even in the damned Mississippi Basin, and every one of us has been treated with nothing but contempt by that fucking coyote. Have you no sense at all, woman?”

Adam’s arm tensed under my hand, and Ol’ Manitou River looked at me.

“Not your problem, sir. Please go on reading governors.”

The Senator’s voice came again, over something from Oregon I missed.

“No I bloody well won’t be quiet. This is intolerable. The arrogance of these preternaturals is—”

Whatever he said was drowned by roaring in my ears as I felt my eyes go hot gold, and I swung, cloak flaring and Manannán’s Bane rising in my hand as I let loose a fraction of the power skittering under my skin.

“Be silent, Senator.” I stalked towards him, Adam at my side, as his mouth worked and no sound came. “Do you know whom I last heard say something beginning _The arrogance of you preternaturals?_ That’s an interrogative, and you may answer only yes or no. Well?”

He tried to say other things but I waited him out, foot tapping, and eventually he spat out what he could.

“No.”

“Surprise. The answer, Senator, is the late Senior Supervisory Agent Richard Preskylovitch, about thirty seconds before Medicine Wolf ate him.” People froze. “You are not only making a complete fool of yourself on global TV, you are being a crassly rude nuisance. And as I find it telling it is a female governor you’ve chosen to swear at and insult, as well as me, feel free to leave. You won’t be being introduced to anyone else today.”

He goggled. “You have no authority to order me about!”

“Don’t I, Senator? You’re here at my invitation, and Adam and I are footing the bill to hire Gateway Park, as well as contributing to St Louis PD costs. What do you usually do at parties when the hostess tells you to take a hike? You must have some experience.”

He goggled some more, but I felt Adam’s rage tinge with amusement, and relaxed a little.

“You … you …”

“Me, me, Senator? You bet. Adam told you you had no leeway left after you tried to crush my hand. Your invitation is withdrawn. Time to go.”

I wouldn’t have asked it of him but the PD Captain stepped up, summoning two uniforms to escort the senator away, looking incredulous.

“I’ll have your badge for this.”

The Captain was unimpressed. “No, you really won’t, Senator. And as threatening a police officer is a criminal offence, and you’re _so_ on record, you’d best zip it.”

The uniforms went, the senator stamping outrage between them, and I thanked the Captain.

“Not a problem, ma’am. Handy being able to silence people like that.”

I thought about the camera. “I’m careful about using magic, Captain, but it stops escalation, I won’t stand by and watch abuse, and you’ll understand people echoing Preskylovitch hit my buttons hard.” He did, and I hoped others would. “In any case, the senator will have his time to talk this evening, if he shows.”

And wouldn’t that be fun? Adam and I went back down, talking briefly to a relieved Oregon and others before sitting beside Jesse again. Between governors Ol’ Manitou River gave me a look, and spoke privately.

_That was well done, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. The gold that now ebbs from your eyes is interesting._

“So I’m told, Ol’ Manitou River. It’s because of our mate-bond.”

_Yes, but magic you took from the volcanic manitou deepens wolf-yellow to gold. Magic works very oddly around you, even by Coyote’s standards._

It got back to governors and I quietly told Adam and Jesse what it had said. It was interesting, and Ramona would be tickled, but didn’t need acting on. Jesse thought it affected how humans saw my rage, because the gold was beautiful as well as frightening, and I took that under advisement, wondering what Caroline or Penny might have said on air. On another day I might not have snapped so fast, though venting had been helpful, but if magically silencing rivals wasn’t a good idea, Senator Stupid had blown it and people could think what they wanted. The sun was westering, lengthening the Arch’s shadow across brown water, and Frank and Rachel had to leave for his lecture. The Secret Service took over, releasing Darryl, Auriele, and Joel to the trios on Adam, Jesse, and me, and as Jeremiah and Ros with their wolves were going to the lecture there were farewells with a lot of underlying tension. At last Ol’ Manitou River was done with governors.

_Thank you all. To understand your political administration is helpful if we are to work together. You draw boundaries for very odd reasons._

“Don’t we? Anyway, the President and Secretary of the Interior will be here early tomorrow. Meantime, there are my rivals.”

Apart from the women, who seemed to have decided that being on my side was the wiser strategy, they were not a happy bunch, acutely conscious of being marginalised but held in check by shock at what I’d done to the senator and scenting blood in the water. Several tried for good soundbites, but as only the women and three others consented to be read Ol’ Manitou River wasn’t much interested and sought assurances they would, if elected — it sounded dubious, and I held in a laugh — make its needs a priority, extracting from some a strangled yes and from most verbiage, though the women again did better. But time was passing, tension ratcheting up, thrumming between me and Adam, and enough was enough. I took the first pause that offered.

“And that’s it for today, ladies and gentlemen, if we’re to get ourselves to WashU in time. I have a motorcade waiting, and you have whatever. Some free advice, though — trying to flannel great manitous is foolish and counter-productive. Ol’ Manitou River is really not in the market for snake oil by the yard.”

Ol’ Manitou River laughed, a deep barking huff of mindvoice.

_She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars is correct. I am interested in practical co-operation to reduce pollution, and willing to trade assistance with flood control and hydropower._

Its head suddenly turned, as if scenting, and swung back, mindvoice private to Adam and me.

_Some Undead arrived, across the water. I cannot be sure how many for they were close together, and appeared underground, but perhaps fifteen or twenty._

My eyes met Adam’s. Either number was a lot more than the daywalkers Wulfe had specified, but there was a seethe in East St Louis, near enough that translocation here would be close to instantaneous. There were also a lot of people present, and our thoughts twined while I became conscious of wider silence and stares.

“Thank you, Ol’ Manitou River. Good to know. I expect you’d like to see the debate?”

_If that can be arranged here. I do not care to travel through your cities._

I sought Missouri’s gaze. “Governor? Any problem putting the debate onto a big screen here for Ol’ Manitou River?”

“Not in the least, Ms Hauptman. We’d have put one up anyway if—”

“Right.” I cut across him before he could say more, seeing his surprise and making a note to apologise when I could. If I could. “Thank you. It’ll be under the Arch, I’d think, Ol’ Manitou River, so only a step. Debate’s due to start at seven-thirty Central.”

_That is well. I will talk to people here, and in that other park. Farewell for now, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, Adam Hauptman, Jesse Hauptman. I am sure we shall speak again._

That sounded comforting, and as Ol’ Manitou River stood and strode down to the water’s edge and straight on towards the crowd in Martin Memorial Park I realised it was following my reasoning that even Bonarata would hesitate to attack in its presence, while not going too far away. The walking-on-water show was always good, and Al was tracking it while Dwayne stayed on me.

“Governor, we’ve arranged coaches for representatives and governors, on Walnut Street, and a way should have been cleared.”

The PD Captain nodded. “In hand, ma’am. The coaches, your motorcade, and People Carriers are in the parking lot of the Basilica. You need to go back under the Arch and left to get on the paved trail. We keep them clear for emergency access.”

“Sounds good, thanks. Representatives, governors, rivals, the Secret Service would be grateful if you could all start moving to the Basilica parking lot for onward transport to WashU. My party will follow as soon as you’re clear, and Campus Security will be waiting at the lot there.” I turned. “Oh, and Engineers, if at liberty to do so, you’re welcome to travel with representatives.”

Representatives and governors were primed to do as asked, Engineers accepted with alacrity, and rivals were pulled along. With everyone moving, I gestured Dwayne to give me space.

“Security confab needed.”

He gave a thumbs-up, moving to cover the exodus, and Adam and I went across to the senior Secret Service guy. I spoke very quietly.

“Sorry to take your name in vain, Agent, but the attack probability just hit .99, so getting people away fast seemed a good move.”

“Yes. What happened?”

“Manitou felt vamps arrive in East St Louis. Has to be daywalkers translocating, so anytime now.” I shrugged. “Under the Arch, maybe. Symbolism. Pass word, but please don’t be obvious. They’ll be watching.”

“Hear you, ma’am. On it.”

We left him murmuring into a throat-mike, and did our own discreet word-passing while I was off-camera. Adam could do pack magically, and get a non-verbal alert to Ramona and Tom as fellow Alphas ; Jill, David, and humans picked it up from body language but I did some murmuring.

“Maybe higher numbers than expected. Be prepared for multiple targets. And if it’s in the open, with us all facing one way, I’d expect a pincer, different sides and heights.”

Anything else I had to say was silent, for the cloak, and I could feel its readiness, a grain of slow time hovering over the plug-in switch, however that worked. Manannán’s Bane was warm in my hand, Carnwennan’s handle as hot as I’d ever felt it. Only the Glock was cool, ridged plastic grip a comfort to sweaty hands. The last governors disappeared over the top step, Dwayne’s camera came back on me, and after a moment the Secret Service up there used throat-mikes and their senior nodded.

“We don’t want a jam in the parking lot, ma’am, because it has way more overlooks than here, so we should give it another minute.”

“Right. Thanks.”

As I wanted Bonarata to have clear sight of us I waved Penny in.

“We’ll be moving in a minute, Ms Ligatt. Interesting day so far, hey?”

“And how, Ms Hauptman. Ol’ Manitou River is an amazing sight.”

“Isn’t it? What should we call that colour, do you think?”

“I have no idea. It’s darker than what I’d call ebony, and glossier.”

“Yeah. Onyx, maybe. Or obsidian. Jesse probably knows a dozen shades of black hair-dye, but I shudder to think.”

Penny grinned. “Me too. More seriously, Ms Hauptman, I was shocked by the Senator’s … crude chauvinism. Do you have any further comment?”

“Not about him, Ms Ligatt, but remember José Urillo saying racism, homophobia, and anti-preternatural bigotry are mutually reinforcing? Well, add sexism. It’s more othering, and fuels escalation and ultimately violence. That’s one reason I called National Committees and rivals on their failure to condemn the shots fired in Kennewick.”

“Yes, I see that entirely, and those failures are shocking too. But your security’s waiting on us, Ms Hauptman, so I’ll just ask if you’re looking forward to the debate?”

“I have been since I offered it, Ms Ligatt, and though I’ve been busy, some days time’s just seemed to crawl, so it’s good to be here at last.” It was fortunate Dwayne’s camera wasn’t on her at that moment. “I believe you and Ms Taylor are attending, but not filming. Is that right?”

“Quite right.”

“Then perhaps I’ll see you afterwards, and if not, tomorrow at Sacajawea SP. Thank you for today.”

“And thank you, Ms Hauptman. It’s been a privilege to be here.”

I doubted it would stay that way, but I’d given what warning I could, and Dwayne tapped controls, so he’d understood. I made myself wave at crowds as we fell into formation, two Secret Service guys taking point in front of me, Adam, and Jesse. When we hit the paved trail we’d have to be in column, but in the open spaces of river steps and green multiple guards behind each of us made for a football-shape. Preternaturals were mostly closer, because with faster reactions they were less vulnerable, but Joel and Vanna had dropped back with David’s crew, Dan, and the Joes. Topping the steps produced a lot of noise as people saw us, but I was too busy scanning to offer waves. The route was as the PD Captain said, and I could see him standing just inside it, twenty yards beyond the Arch. Dwayne was walking backwards ten yards in front of us, Penny guiding him. Al had moved out for a wider shot, Caroline with him, and I wiped palms on my skirt and flipped open my holster.

I was straining magical senses but all they were telling me was that there was a great deal of it about. Somewhere distant, sensed though the cloak, magic that felt very old and deeply fae was building, and as I passed under the Arch I was aware of ambient magic drawn to the perfection of its geometry. That was interesting, but a timer was ticking in my head, one second, two seco— and vamp magic sliced space open, five yards in front of me and maybe seven behind, but well above.

Time dilation boiled through the cloak with far more power than I’d expected as I hauled on Underhill with all my magical strength. The cloak let me know I’d hit a ratio of nearly 50:1, and should dial it down. It’s fortunate magic follows intent because I had no idea how the controls worked, but when I thought I wanted 20:1 for the extending field I knew the drop allowed it to spread faster and I’d come back to 30:1, which might be sustainable though I could feel calories burning. In the fragment of time that took vamp-sliced space ahead of me widened to show Bonarata, crouched to release Lenka Yakovlevna, on four legs, and when I spun vamp-slices in the air under the Arch were wide enough for me to see who was stepping through, carrying what, and nausea rose.

“Wha—”

Adam started to spin round as he was enfolded by slow time, and Jesse to gasp. The image that flickered in my mind was those drawings of space-time deformed by mass into a gravity well, and I was the planet at the bottom, time-dilation ratio dropping above me until it smoothed into the 20:1 I wanted. Getting out of gravity wells is a messy business, but getting out of this time well was just another thought, and as the world sped up a little, though still seeming glacial, I dropped Manannán’s Bane with an apology, and drew my Glock.

Time dilation had reached everyone and I spoke as fast as I could. “Humans, target ten vamps forty feet up. Each is carrying a vamp that will crumble. Hit the ones behind. All preternaturals on Bonarata straight ahead. _Go._ I’ve got Lenka.”

Bonarata had released Lenka and stepped forward, face beginning to register we weren’t where expected. I brought the Glock up, realised the PD Captain was in line and took a sideways step, standing tall so I could aim down. Lenka’s wolf had begun a spring that would bring it right onto me, jaws to face. The mouth was open, eyes wholly mad, and I felt a distant pity as I pulled the trigger twice. In peripheral vision I saw Bonarata rocked by chest hits as the back of Lenka’s head blew off and light faded in her eyes, power cut from her spring. Which would not cancel momentum already imparted.

“Jill, go bear and stop Lenka.”

I swung to Bonarata. Wooden slugs had swayed him, but there was no sign of crumbling. Silver slugs weighed more and two in quick succession to his centre of mass, with further heart shots from Adam and Jesse, made him stumble, twisting as impacts wrecked his balance, and Skuffles took him under a windmilling arm, jaws crunching across his chest. The impact knocked him off his feet, Grizzly Jill came past my left side, heading for Lenka, and on my right Irpa had dropped glamour, jumping over us with a stentorian shout, club high.

“Skuffles, get his head _up_.”

Skuffles rolled her body to force Bonarata’s jawed torso up, head with it until Giant-shortener spiked it and tore it off. But no blood was spouting, and decapitation was not going to work any better than staking because I could see the glitteringly wrong bond of magic between head and stump. There was black witchcraft that stank like a rotted abattoir twined with something that had once been fae and was infused with a ghastly pale light, vamp undeadness, and hundreds of ghosts somehow braided within it all.

“Irpa, stop that head escaping!”

I was too late, the head using the momentum of Irpa’s swing to slide off Giant-shortener’s spike and the bond of magic contracted, hauling it in, until a full-size Vanna leaped over me and Trouble-squasher caught the head several feet shy, carrying it away in an arc that ended with a crack against Giant-shortener. The clubs rebounded slightly, but the head, if uncrushed, was pinned, and need unfolded in my mind.

“Trolls, hold that head high. Preternaturals, keep the torso down.”

I dropped the Glock and ran forward, cloak folding itself back as I called on Carnwennan, Manannán’s Bane, and every magic I had, reaching through the cloak to Underhill, through the blazing magic of the triad towards Aspen Creek, arms extended, hands opening in readiness.

“ _Dewch ataf, Caledfwlch!_ ”

Magic heaved, a great wave cresting. Something was happening Underhill I didn’t understand, but Excalibur had heard and was coming at our call. It drew itself from its scabbard, angling as it passed through the Garden of Manannán’s Death, and I gripped the hilt, feeling its power and perfect balance. Jill had slammed Lenka’s corpse aside and caught one of Bonarata’s flailing arms in her jaws, Coyote had appeared to stop the other beating at Skuffles’s side, and Joel had landed on the torso’s legs as magmatic tibicena. Charring flesh had not flashed into fire, but that didn’t matter.

Marine Joe had never stopped singing the praises of Zee’s dagger, and I knew how sweetly Carnwennan sat in my hand. Excalibur was in another league, a true pattern-welded blade with an immense amount of magic fused within its purity of form, fae-like, human, and with a wolfness that smelt of Bran. But the magics would have meant nothing without the perfection of the object. If you’ve never held a broadsword this might seem odd, but knights never put much strength in downstrokes. Hollywood gives its pretty boys customised swords with a balance-point where blade becomes tang, so they can twirl them menacingly in raking light, but real swords designed to help you kill things fast have a balance-point four or five inches downblade, and they bring themselves down. Cavalry sabres work the same way. But Excalibur had dropped into my upraised hands, and as I shaped the stroke I used desperate strength to accelerate it, drawing on time, reaching as deeply as I could into the magic that had always been mine, feeding it through the cloak. Some ran down Excalibur’s fuller to spill to the edges, flickering blue fire, and the rest I sent in a direct, screaming strike at Bonarata’s bond of magic as Irpa and Vanna stretched it out. My magic ploughed into his, shrieking an imperative to leave, to go on as ghosts should, and a tangled skein as dense as felted dreadlock ripped free, twisting grey in the air six inches further away than the cable of black and inverted magics that linked vibrating head to heaving torso.

“ _O dy ras, Caledfwlch, lladd fi yn awr y peth marw ond byw!”_

I felt a jarring impact as Excalibur hit bond and ghost-braid and sliced through as it would a side of beef, ribs, vertebrae, and all. Fountains of sparks erupted from both, and I slammed another magical command at the braid, laced with sorrow and release. Wherever the ghosts had come from, they had been victims, ghosts as well as blood, lives, and bodies stolen, and a first lick of triumph flared when I felt their assent, revulsion, and ecstatic flight as Excalibur carved asunder the bitter witchcraft that bound them. There had been terror and vast guilt among them, but they were gone. What strength I had left went into slowing the blade, setting muscles against its cleaving weight, but as I saw the ghostless bond recoil from severance, raw ends fizzling into dust, my head snapped up. Bonarata’s distorted face was terrible in its hatred and no less terrible in dawning terror as the dust raced up the shrivelling bond, and braided ghosts flared into nothingness. I thought his last word would have been a screaming _No!_ , but it was incomplete when severance reached head and torso simultaneously and blew him into dust, a thick skein of vamp feeding- and Turning-ties flaring out of existence with him.

A microsecond later my mouth began to burn with the vilest acid rot, filth beyond imagining, and I retched uncontrollably, spitting sudden phlegm. Skuffles was in a worse way, hacking dust, and I forced myself to look back, but Glocks had done their job, leaving only a ragged line of dust and clothing on the ground and in the air. No-one was down, Zee had dropped his glamour and had a sword, so I let dilation go, gasping as I was dumped back into ordinary time and felt how much energy I’d burned. Hunger was flaring but had to wait, and as I took a step towards Skuffles, still choking, Ol’ Manitou River appeared, eyes glowing concern, and ideas connected.

“Can you do salt water? Strongly salt?”

_Of course._

It knelt, cupped hands brimming with water, and Coyote lifted Skuffles so she could plunge her muzzle in. Salt flooded my mouth, and I spat again onto Bonarata’s reeking dust as water in the manitou’s hands discoloured and was dumped before hands refilled. Three rinses were enough and while Skuffles shook herself with profound relief I looked round, seeing Adam holding a tearful Jesse, Joel back to room-temperature, and Grizzly Jill looking around. Laying down Excalibur with thanks on dust-free grass, I realised a smear of witchcraft stained its blade, wiped my mouth, called to Zee while gesturing, and ignoring the ache in my arms pulled out my phone. Dwayne was crouched five yards away, still filming, Penny wide-eyed behind him and the boom-mike still pointing at me. As the PD Captain skidded to a halt I held up a hand.

<Ms Hau—>

“Geronimo, Mr President. I repeat, Geronimo, Geronimo.”

<On it.>

I heard him snapping orders and looked at the staring PD Captain. “This was expected, and there are no casualties except bad guys. I realise you have legal obligations, but there is no current danger to the public.” I looked around, seeing dazed shock in the crowds, then up. “Irpa, you and Vanna are loudest. Might you reassure the crowds?”

“Will do, Mercy.” Irpa shook her head. “You are owed more than one round of Valhallan mead. All honour to you. I couldn’t follow all your magic but his was as bad as anything I’ve ever seen. That dust should be burned.”

“Fine by me. We might get an ever-black circle where the beast was burned, but at least we don’t have a Snowmane’s Howe.”

She grinned. “There’s that. But he needs sweeping up anyway, so I can cut back some turf.”

“Better. But crowd first, please.”

“Sure. Let’s go be reassuring, Vanna.”

_I will do that also, and speak to the people here._

Ol’ Manitou River rose, and I nodded.

“That’s good, thanks.”

<Everything’s launched, Ms Hauptman.> The Man’s voice came back as trolls went, calling out that an attack had been foiled and all was well. Ol’ Manitou River followed them. <What happened? TV blurred for a few seconds, then there were animal-forms and dust everywhere, and you had a huge sword and a mouth full of something.>

“That covers it, sir. Bonarata and twenty more dismissed, plus Lenka. AED should call the Tri-Cities now. They’ll be in deep shock.”

<He knows. What are the trolls … oh, reassuring the crowds. And Ol’ Manitou River. Good job. And you’ve done that all day. How do you want to play this, Ms Hauptman?>

“Things to clear up here, sir, and I need to go Underhill to sort something, though that won’t take much Overhill time. If you can assure the PD Captain he’s good to let us clear this scene before we hand over to him, I can make WashU for a slightly late start. You address the nation, and I’ll do details.”

I watched Zee crouched over Excalibur, turning it and frowning. Jesse had dried her face but was still shaky from adrenalin, and many people had phones out. Al was closing in on Zee, but Dwayne hadn’t moved.

< Legendary vengeance is right, Ms Hauptman. Put the PD on.>

I handed the Captain my phone. “The President wants a word, sir.”

He took it as if it might bite his ear, but I could hear the Man being conciliatory as well as firm, and went to Adam and Jesse.

“All OK?”

Adam sent a pulse though our bond, joyous with relief but curling with contempt for Bonarata’s tactics, curiosity about what he’d felt from me while it went down, and concern for my aching arms and hunger. Jesse swallowed and nodded.

“Just shock, Mom.”

“I know.” I knelt to hug her. “You were cool and smart when it counted. Your impacts helped rock him back for Skuffles. But you didn’t kill or dismiss anyone. No need for nightmares, and the worst is history.”

Adam pulled out an energy bar, and I all but ate the wrapper. It was the nearest I’ve ever come to a wolf’s bolting, and hunger receded.

“Yeuch.” Jesse flipped me water and I washed the last bit down. “Thanks. Next to Bonarata they’re haut cuisine.”

 _Tell me._ Skuffles thrust her head over my shoulder, skulls rattling. _I knew vamps tasted bad, but there isn’t a word for it. A starving vulture would leg it in a heartbeat. Wingbeat. Whatever. Zee wants a word about your new sword._

“ _My_ new … right. Give Jesse a cuddle?”

 _Of course._ She slid past me to flop down, head in Jesse’s lap. _Can you wipe my teeth? I’ve got salt residue, which is better than black witchcraft by a mile but still not good._

Jesse blinked, and I left them to it. Zee stood as well, Excalibur resting across his hands, but before I could get to him the PD Captain gave me back my phone.

“Mr President?”

<You’re clear to do whatever you have to there, Ms Hauptman, and go on to WashU, but the police will need statements before anyone goes home. I’ll let the moderators know they’ll need to put me on as soon as you get there. But can you get those cameramen to find out what they’ve got if they slow it down? I need some sense of what we’ll be seeing.>

“Hang on.” I held the phone away from my mouth so he could hear without being deafened. “Dwayne, can you get frame-by-frame playback on your monitor?”

He looked up. “Yeah, but I’d have to stop filming.”

“Al, come be close coverage. Dwayne, the President wants to see what you’ve got.”

iPhone video of a monitor is not ideal, but Dwayne had been at 850 frames per second, so Bonarata’s and Lenka’s translocations came in over a few hundred frames, daywalkers dropping sleepers whose crumbling was horribly clear. Soundtrack was crackle, but agents had hit seven of ten daywalkers cleanly in a first volley, and another in a second through billowing dust. Tad zapped one, and a leaping Zee, glamour vanishing between frames, decapitated the last, while Bonarata staggered, blocking Adam, Jesse, and me from view in turn. Jill’s flying clothes showed as she stopped Lenka, and when Skuffles had taken Bonarata Dwayne had widened his shot as fast as he could. Giant-shortener and Trouble-squasher blurred when swung, but the decapitation was clear with failure to dismiss. The struggling torso pinned by Skuffles, Jill, Coyote, and magmatic Joel was clear, and the face of the reimpaled head, screaming shocked malevolence. The moment I’d felt Excalibur in my hands was there, eyes golden, and the flaring sparks streaking air against the billowing cloak. Then there was only dust and hacking spit, Ol’ Manitou River appeared, and soundtrack came back as I asked about salt water. The Captain was watching, face pale with shock, and so was Coyote, with what I thought professional vampire-slaying interest.

“Thanks, Dwayne. Swap with Al so we can see what he has, please.”

They did, but Al’s footage was all wideshot, his top frame rate lower. I lifted my phone to my ear.

“Any urgent questions, sir?”

The Man blew out a long breath. <Only a million, but no. Holy God. You deserve a medal, Ms Hauptman.>

“Wasn’t me alone, sir, by a very long chalk. But I need to get on if I’m to be uptown anywhere near seven.”

<Yeah. The moderators will wait on you.>

“Thanks. I dare say my rivals can entertain them the while. Later, sir.”

<You bet, Ms Hauptman. Good luck.>

First things first. “Captain, anything to say?”

He took a breath. “Not with any legal import, ma’am. I’m reeling, but it’s clear something came at you, and … doing whatever you all did was self-defence. You’re all licensed to carry, and I have no authority over the Secret Service.”

“OK. And without legal import?”

“Uh … a truckload of admiration and concern about public exposure to risk.”

“Oh yeah, Captain, but we weren’t generating it, and did all we could to bring it only on ourselves. Successfully. I hear you, but no harm, no foul. Everything about this was _very_ complicated.”

“I bet. What do you need to do here?”

“Get Lenka Yakovlevna, the dead wolf, back to human, and burn the dust. There must be a vacuum in the café. Can you get hold of it, with a clean bag, and enough cable to reach? Two vacuums and cables would be better. I’ve got some magical business that will not wait.”

He nodded and I turned to Al and Dwayne.

“You’ll need to give me space and no sound for a few minutes, guys. And don’t worry if I leave. I’ll be back.”

The _Terminator_ echo amused me as I swung away. Jesse had finished cleaning Skuffles’s teeth and was piecing together Jill’s clothing. Brent had a spare one-piece for Joel, whose clothing had not survived going magmatic, but nowhere for him to change. I told him the café would be unlocked, and went to Zee, wondering why he hadn’t resumed his glamour.

“Dark Smith, thanks for that leap — camera caught it. Is Excalibur alright?”

To my complete surprise he gave me a bow.

“As Irpa said, all honour to you, Mercedes Elf-friend. And _ja_ , she takes no harm, but I need my forge. You feel her?”

“I do, Zee. And that vile witchcraft. Fae magic needs a fae body, my foot. There were a bunch of ghosts in there too.”

“Ghosts _within_ Bonarata?”

“Yup. Braided inside the rejoining magic. If we go Underhill now, can you clean it and still let me get back here within a few minutes?”

“ _Ja_. Are you willing I should take her first, and you follow?”

“You’re asking me?”

“She is yours now, Mercy, in so far as she is ever anyone’s, and happy to be so. You have done a great deed with her. Do you know what awaits you in the Garden of Manannán’s Death?”

“Besides a duckpond? There was a lot of old magic doing whatever.”

“There was. Excalibur is happy for me to clean her, but will not wish to leave you for long.”

I thought about participating in a presidential debate with Excalibur on my belt, and gave up. I thanked Excalibur for its valour, and Zee left by arch with Tad. A quick conference decided Adam and Jesse would come with Skuffles, very happy not to have to lie low any more, Brent would stay on me, taking Jill’s clothing, and Jill, still grizzly, on Jesse. Warren and Darryl were in charge until Adam was back. Everyone had dust masks and knew what had to be done. Coyote would see us at WashU. As Irpa and Vanna came towards us I found the PD Captain talking vacuums to the NPS guy, and let them know we’d be gone for a minute or five.

“All OK, Irpa?”

“Lotta concern but they can see you’re OK. Ol’ Manitou River’s reading people, and they’re happy about that. Where’d the Dark Smith go?”

“His forge, to clean witchcraft stain off Excalibur. I want to know what all that old magic was doing. There are also things to be said. Call it a post-post-mortem. Want to come offer eyewitness testimony?”

She blinked. “Wild unicorns wouldn’t keep us away, Mercy. You are going to have some righteous power entering the Garden, but have a care.”

“Always, Irpa. There are questions all the same.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

There were a lot of fae in the Garden of Manannán’s Death, clustered round fountain and statue, and a buzz of conversation that died as they felt us enter, but I ignored them because there was also an arch amid roses through which Zee’s forge was visible. He was pouring charcoal while Tad worked a wooden lever controlling the bellows. Underhill stood by the arch, watching, and turned with a warm smile, skipping forward.

“Mercedes Elf-friend.” The others got nods, with a quizzical look at Grizzly Jill and the clothing Brent carried, but she peered at me, rose eyes flickering, then at Skuffles. “I am very glad you and Skuffles survived, and you coped with my power well, but you have taken harm from the blackest witchcraft. Salt water has cleansed you, but I have a cordial to restore bruised magic and offer it freely, asking no return.” Her formality softened. “It has no hidden dangers, on my word.”

I trusted her, more or less, and my mouth still hurt, as well as my arms. “That sounds good, Underhill, and would make us glad. Bonarata’s dust really did taste as unspeakable as you’d expect.”

“Then drink, and be eased.”

I hadn’t seen the chased golden goblet appear in her hand, but took it with a smile, wondering if it was what ap Lugh drank, and did see a matching golden jug pop into her grip. Skuffles opened her mouth and as Underhill poured rotated dentition, swallowing gratefully. I sipped, tasting a flavour with chamomile, mint, green tea, and something smokier. The stinging in my mouth, like little ulcers though I knew there was nothing physical, swiftly eased, and I felt Adam relax. My arms still ached, but that was impact.

“That does feel better, Underhill. Does the flavour have a name?”

“No. You should come and see your Untenanted Duckpond.”

“Let me check on Excalibur first?”

“She will be well, Mercedes, but do. I will wait.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not in the least. A new bonding for that one is a fine thing.”

I returned the goblet and took that under advisement, but Skuffles had trotted to the arch, peering through.

_May we enter, Dark Smith?_

“ _Ja._ Come on in, wary of fire and edge.”

A large metal bucket was heating, Excalibur sticking out at an angle, but Tad had stopped working the bellows. I was fascinated, and so were Adam, Jesse, and Brent. Even Jill peered through the arch, head swinging in the gloom. On the far side a doorway spilled light, but the forge was windowless and high-roofed. Two anvils of different sizes stood on one side, and a long work surface strewn with tools ran along the other, more hanging on the wall above — I recognised hammers, punches, files, and a wire-drawing plate, but others were beyond me. Neatly arrayed at one end were three swords in varying stages of completion, with a halberd that looked to lack only polish. Skuffles kept close beside me, tail tucked.

“What are we watching, Tad?”

“Dad’s soaking her in heated oil, Jesse. Vegetable. He sees witchcraft better than me, and from what I picked up there’s black magic, bits of Bonarata, and some other, even worse thing it’s glued to.”

“From She of Livorno?”

“It must be, Mercy.” Zee spoke without turning. “It is very old, half-fae, and stinks of the undead. This should not have been possible, and Gwyn ap Lugh should see it. The original spell was extreme, and Bonarata’s theft strengthened it. Severed from him it is powerless, but obdurate.”

“Mmm. Hot vegetable oil dissolves it?”

Tad nodded. “Dissolves organics, Mercy, and heat expansion helps crack it off. We’ll do at least one more cycle and use a bronze scraper to make sure it’s completely clean, then it’s just drying and a proper polish with crushed peanut shells.”

I blinked. “You polish swords with peanut shells?”

“If you’re sensible. Fish scales work too, but smell worse.”

“Eeuw.” Jesse made a face. “Peanuts over fish it is. Why no windows?”

“You can’t see the colour of hot metal in daylight, and it’s colour plus sound and feel under the hammer you need to guide your hand.”

“Bellows.”

Tad went back to work, and after a moment Adam and I stepped out with Skuffles, leaving Brent watching Jesse. Jill gave me a very ursine stare, and I retrieved the clothing Brent carried. Underhill laughed, and a glade opened among the nearest roses. I set the clothes on a small bench it sported, and Jill gave us speaking looks before lumbering in. We turned, walking towards fountain and statue, and Underhill rubbed hands.

“You’re going to adore this, Mercedes. I do. _Clever_ Excalibur. And clever you. It’s a much better answer than Merlin ever managed.”

I was confused by that, but there was a distraction, because the crowd now included ap Lugh, Nemane, Baba Yaga, and The Dagda. I took a deep breath and smiled pleasantly.

“Ah, Gwyn ap Lugh, Gray Lords. Greetings. The Dark Smith believes you should see the stain Bonarata’s stolen magic left on Excalibur. He’s cleaning it in his forge.” They all looked at me with a certain wariness. “I expect he could bring it out if the iron in there is a problem.”

“Indeed. Greetings, Mercedes Elf-friend. Adam Hauptman. We are very glad of your success and safety, Mercedes.”

“Not just mine, Gwyn ap Lugh. But do look at that stain, if you will. I’d like to have a conversation about some related matters once I’ve seen the new duckpond.”

Ap Lugh sighed and Nemane glittered beady eyes at me.

“We did what we must, Daughter of Coyote.”

“As do all, Nemane. You just didn’t do all you should. But let’s not go there yet. The last fragment of She of Livorno waits on you.”

Curiosity flickered amid beadiness and she nodded curtly, ap Lugh and Baba Yaga following her to the arch. The Dagda considered me.

“I do not fit in the Dark Smith’s forge, Mercedes Elf-friend, and do not sense witchcraft well anyway. This that you and Excalibur have wrought is much more interesting. Come and see.”

He stood aside, and we went forward staring. Where fountain and statue had been points on a line, the new work made them equidistant points on a circle, a curving bank of roses behind it insisting on circle rather than triangle. The Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility was duck-shaped alright, an adaptation of Audubon’s fighting male eider, with its reared posture and half-spread wings but looking back, rather than striking forward. The duck itself was … painted? laid in micromosaic? somethinged onto the bottom, visible though crystal water, and plumage mixed the colours of Skuffles and Underhill’s roses, but the eyes were a hot gold I knew from photos, and not entirely unaware. Webbed feet spread on fine sand, and over feathered shoulders and farther wing, receding with Audubon’s exact perspective, water stretched to an unseen horizon, a square block of white stone rising from it a little way offshore. On it something black rested. My head spun for a moment, the cloak rustling satisfaction as Manannán’s Bane warmed in my hand, and I knew, the magic becoming transparent to me. The access conditions were set, but didn’t apply to me, and I looked at Underhill, knowing she knew.

“May I take a look?”

“Only you can, Mercedes.”

“Excuse me a moment then, everyone. I’ll just fetch that scabbard. Does it have a name, Underhill?”

“Ceulydd. It is potent but less aware than Excalibur.”

“Good to know. I won’t be a moment, I hope.”

I thought about it, fighting dizziness as I imagined the plane of that sea, and at the right moment took a single step that should have dumped me in the duckpond but landed me on the block of stone, Ceulydd at my feet. I stooped to pick it up, assuring it Excalibur was well. Less aware seemed right, but so did courtesy, and I looked around. The beach the impossible duck stood on was at the base of steep cliffs, stretching away on both sides, and the other way I was ringed by a flat horizon. It wasn’t Manannán’s sea — no selkies swam in this fresh water where there would never be storms — but it was an echo, minus Manannán, and I’d not only duckponded him but pressed his echo into service, as Underhill had with the water of the fountain and ice of the statue. And it was well. It was a peaceful place where Excalibur would be safe between wielders, available only to the righteously needy with a sense of humour. The duck provided an aim for departure, and I imagined the Garden at right angles and leaned into another step that landed me beside Adam.

“How long?”

“A minute, maybe. Don’t do that again, please, Mercy.”

“No need.” I kissed him, not caring who saw. “But once was necessary. Meet Ceulydd.” I held the scabbard out, seeing complex designs in the stiff leather. “It stops bleeding from the wounds of edged weapons. I don’t know about slugs, but that’s worth a bunch. And the embroidery’s really pretty.”

He stared at Ceulydd, then at me. “If you say so, Mercy. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“This bit is the sword _on_ the stone. That’s what you meant about Merlin, isn’t it, Underhill?”

“Surely. Being in stone does not suit any sword, Dana was a mistake — he was infatuated — and comatose kings are all very well but cannot prevent their swords being stolen. Excalibur at large without a true wielder once that werewolf dug her up has been a concern.” She smiled up at us. “Merely finding a wielder would have been a pleasure, though there is no mere about Excalibur, but a true home at need is a splendid bonus.” She cocked her head. “Even I would have a hard time retrieving anything from that rock without Mercedes’s let, Adam Hauptman, and the access conditions she has set are hidden from any who cannot meet them.”

“What fun’s a riddle with an operating manual? I thought Uncle Mike could open a wager. The pot should be sizeable before a winner emerges.”

Underhill clapped hands. “I will tell the book to inscribe the question. But here are Gwyn ap Lugh and the others. Do be gentle.”

I gave her a look and she laughed, standing aside with a gesture as ap Lugh, Nemane, and Baba Yaga came to a halt facing me beside The Dagda, and Jesse, Brent, and Jill slipped round them, staring at the Duckpond. I met ap Lugh’s expressionless look, then Nemane’s black-eyed stare.

“Well, Nemane? It seems fae magic does not always need a fae body.”

“Indeed. I was mistaken.”

“Yet only in honest belief, Nemane, whatever you feared.” She blinked, and I used the _main gauche_. “But you knew about the ghosts, didn’t you?”

There was a tense silence before she drew herself up, eyes glittering. “What of it?”

“Only this. Why would you think I’d refuse to help them, had you asked?” I waited but there was no answer, and I sighed. “Stop me, any of you, if I err. You knew She of Livorno had been dismissed, and that Bonarata had taken some of her powers, including the magic of rejoining. You also knew about his unutterably vile predation on ghosts to reinforce it, and the resistance to staking. Someone tried it and died badly?”

“Yes.” Baba Yaga sounded tired. “Several someones.”

“I regret their loss. Continuing. He had immunity to sunlight, staking, and decapitation. Perhaps some to immolation as well, but I don’t know if you knew that. Close contact with Joel’s magmatic form didn’t fire him up though it was charring flesh. And an invulnerable Undead is really not good. But Wulfe trailed his bait, and you came up with a cunning plan.”

Ap Lugh looked both guilty and off-balance. “An unusual problem requires an unusual answer.”

“Surely, Gwyn ap Lugh. And again, why would you think I would refuse to serve against Bonarata? The only answer I can see is because I like Stefan, and your collective revulsion at the Undead made you assume I’d be reluctant. And I am being very polite when I say that if so, you made a grave category error.”

“Did we?” Nemane was cross at being caught out. “Your Undead Warrior has given you no aid.”

I fought to keep gold from my eyes. “Do you realise, Nemane, that I could truthfully call that a lie? Stefan told me about the invulnerability to staking. And I would never ask him to fight Bonarata directly — he was vulnerable to the most potent Undead in ways I am not. Nor you. To call him mine is also perilously close to falsehood for a Gray Lord speaking in this garden. You should be more careful.”

She didn’t like it but I was right, and The Dagda’s hand rested on her shoulder.

“Yes. Not yours. His own. Or someone’s.”

“His own, Nemane. And I would never refuse to help ghosts. But the point is that the balance between us, mediated by Underhill, is that of friends, who do not weight every scruple of their dealings for error or advantage, nor wilfully seek to deceive, sending one another into peril incompletely warned.” I held up a hand as mouths opened. “Stefan’s words were more honest than your silences. Tell me of the ghosts, Nemane. I sent them onwards, and will dream of them.”

Her hand came up to rest over The Dagda’s, and her voice lost its edge.

“Truth. Very well. Faerie queens are predators, as are black wizards. She of Livorno predated on her progenitors, and enslaved their spirits as ghosts. I believe she fused fae enchantment, such as queens use, with the call of ghost to ghost, and what drew her to the Undead was their powers of mental coercion and enforced infatuation. Certainly she was then able to bind ghosts of those she killed by feeding, and because that power was built around her mother’s it had a fae tenacity of true life.”

“That I know. It had light within.” That shocked them. “I saw it, sickly and false yet light still, but cannot analyse it. Irpa?”

“I have never seen the like, Mercy, but light and Undead black witchcraft must eat at one another. Then you hit it with a _lot_ of magic and knocked something out of it. That was ghosts?”

“Yes. Did you see the two spark-jets?”

“We both did, Mercy.” Vanna leaned in. “The nearer to you was more fae, though ill and vile. The farther was from the braid of ghosts?”

“Un huh. I sent avatar magic down Excalibur’s fuller. The sick light was in what was left, and it was fae, not Undeadness.” I lost the battle with my eyes and rage spiked. “So why did any Gray Lord think I’d be a better bet when ignorant? And how could any make such a profound mistake?” I hauled it back in, then looked at Gwyn ap Lugh. “Is there any true answer, besides nature and ingrained habit?”

There was a silence, Adam holding my hand tightly and Jesse resting a hand on my shoulder, before ap Lugh shrugged his elegant shrug.

“Not really, Mercedes. Underhill counselled openness but it comes hard to us. Stefan Uccello rankled for many, Manannán for some, your emergence as a power for more, to whom you were as unknown as you are new under the sun. I cannot say I do not understand. Neither can I say you have not been wronged, when we are all already perilously in your debt, nor deny that some saw … advantage in increasing the risks you would face. I did what I could, with Edythe and Baba Yaga, and Underhill.”

“And so gave yourself away, Gwyn ap Lugh. Fae help so freely offered bespoke a grave sense of debt.”

He shrugged again. “And the graver now you have … exceeded anyone’s expectations save perhaps your own.”

“Oh, those too, Gwyn ap Lugh. So there is a debt owing to me?”

“None can deny it. That which the Dark Smith has just dissolved and burned was the last of a great evil that has shamed us these many millennia, and the deed is yours.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, Gwyn ap Lugh, but the deed is not mine alone, by any accounting. Think about that, if you will. And know I will hold no marker on the Fae, nor any fae, now or ever, for such is not the Path of Mercy. Yet you acknowledge a debt, so will you hear now the geas I will lay upon all who are or become Gray Lords, in perpetual discharge of that debt, leaving us mutually outbalancing ourselves?”

I heard Jill mutter under her breath _Not boring is good, remember._ Then ap Lugh stood straight, all Gray Lords with him.

“To lay such a geas upon us, discharging all debt, is just, Mercedes Elf-friend and Troll-friend. Speak as you will.”

There was a lot of breath-holding, but my rage had dissipated and I’d been thinking about this one for a while.

“Within friendship, Gwyn ap Lugh and all Gray Lords, matters of debt and geas are simple. I would not punish but rebuke and reform you, as we have the Undead.” They could chew on that. “So my geas is simply this.”

Irpa hadn’t been wrong about the power I had in that moment, and my voice held … I’ll call it duck-power, the triad’s absolute rightness.

“You will swear that you will never again seek to deceive me or mine, by omission or commission, and further, that on each century’s anniversary, by Overhill time, of this day of Bonarata’s dismissal, all Gray Lords will gather around the Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility to break bread together and with sincerity discuss the mistakes each has made since the last gathering, considering how to avoid repeating them. Will you accept this geas?”

“ _I_ will, Mercedes.” Underhill was smiling. “You do not disappoint, Elf-friend. And I will bake bread to break for these dinners. It will be quite the tradition.” She eyed Gray Lords. “Bear in mind that Mercedes Elf-friend could justly have specified we dine _in_ the Untenanted Duckpond, and where would we be then? You ignored me, at your peril, yet escape with no more than a command to be honest and a hundred-year dinner with some searching of consciences. Count yourselves uncommonly fortunate Mercy is so very surprising.”

Quite what they made of that was moot, but with Underhill tapping a dainty foot they weren’t going to argue, even Nemane swearing without demur, however she shot me another beady glance or three. The battle and fertility types weren’t happy either, but I gave ap Lugh a smile.

“Isn’t mutual outbalancing a fine thing, Gwyn ap Lugh? Apropos of which, admitting no obligation, I offer simple apology for not asking your let for extra humans to pass through the Garden today before I secured Underhill’s. Annoying, isn’t it?”

To my relief he only stared for a second before smiling ruefully.

“And yet I am left glad it was so very calculated an annoyance, Mercedes. Your aim is precise.”

“Coyotes try. And I believe we are done here, so if Excalibur’s clean and dry I must get back to Gateway Park.”

“Indeed, though only minutes have passed Overhill since you arrived. And you are yet hungry, I deem, for you spent much power in your deed.”

‘I am, Gwyn ap Lugh, but I will not sate my hunger Underhill.”

“Nor would I expect it. A delivery of Benny’s best, to the parking lot of the Basilica, in fifteen Overhill minutes?”

The order must already have been placed, and that spoke to another layer of meanings and warnings. Or peace offerings. He was Master Underhill, and would have known who passed through even without Edythe telling him. And what Ben called a score draw in soccer was an acceptable result against any fae, never mind a bunch of Gray Lords.

“That would be good, Gwyn ap Lugh, but make it twenty minutes, if you will. Should I expect you at the debate?”

“I think not, Mercedes. Television is close enough, just now, I believe.”

“Un huh.” Abruptly I’d had enough of … faeness covered it. So had Adam and Jesse. And Jill, who did not think Underhill counted as beneath the sky, and would like to get back to a real one. “Let’s call it a good day for everyone, then, even the Undead, and I’ll get back to a different set of problems incurred in dismissing Bonarata. Who knows how it’ll go, but a Fae statement might be called for.”

“That we can manage, Mercedes Elf-friend.”

“Glad to hear it, Gwyn ap Lugh. Farewell all. I’ll see you around.”

Other fae thronging the Garden were silent, parting without a word, but Uncle Mike had joined Zee and Tad in the forge, watching Tad wield peanut shells, and looked round as we paused at the arch.

“All honour to you, lass.” He gave a warmer smile that his usual stage-Irish grin. “I wish there’d been time to run a book on what your geas would be. House would’ve taken the pot. And here you go.”

He gave me an envelope I knew contained $870, and passed to Jesse.

“Stash that, please. We’ll open a Duckpond Fund. What I’d really like to see, Uncle Mike, is the losing suggestions. And Underhill has asked your Book of Wagers to inscribe a new question where the House has a good chance of the pot. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all, Mercy. The Book doesn’t travel well, though, and you visiting will be a lot of excitement for a small bar.”

“I expect it will, Uncle Mike, but you might have to get used to a Secret Service detail. All else aside, I need to meet Wulfe somewhere. You could have a happy hour.”

Zee laughed without looking round. “He is more likely to double his prices in celebration than halve them, Mercy. And Excalibur tells me you and she have made her a new refuge when she is between wielders. I will not speak thanks in my forge, but you make me very glad.”

“Happy to do so, Zee. Excalibur and the cloak did the work. You should take a look. For a broadsword and flower garment they do a really extraordinary magical duckpond.”

Zee and Uncle Mike looked at one another, and Uncle Mike shook his head.

“Can’t argue with that, Loan, however you parse it. And wouldn’t Manannán have his seaweed in a stew if he could see himself now? It’s a righteous making.”

“Three thoughts to treasure.” Zee was very cheerful. “You have Ceulydd, I see. Where had she got to?”

“The duckpond.” He blinked, and I grinned. “You’ll see. She has ties, but the belt on this skirt’s a bit thin for the weight.”

“With Excalibur sheathed they will look after themselves, Mercy, and you will not feel their weight. Tad?”

“All sorted, Dad.”

He wiped Excalibur’s blade one last time, an unmarred and gleaming length, and held it out, gripping the guard. The weight was again perfect in my hand, and though I had to stretch the blade slid home into Ceulydd easily. Adam held the Glock as I undid the belt, removed Zee’s dagger for Adam to pocket, and added a broadsword to my armoury. Carnwennan snuggled up, and the cloak adjusted itself. Adam was predictably admiring, but it felt superbly right, and I let the feeling settle for a moment.

“This will take some getting used to. But meanwhile, Ol’ Manitou River — tick. Vamps — tick. Fae — tick. Let’s go deal with humans.”


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter Fifty**

Back in Gateway Park clean-up was under way, two vacuums in use and clothes and effects piled as they were excavated. Joel was human, the PD Captain was watching with two suits, more PD and wolves had arrived, and hard hats were waiting with a big screen, staring. Ol’ Manitou River was talking to the crowds, and Warren and Ramona headed towards us from where they’d been doing the same.

“Boss, Mercy. Just under five minutes. We’re good. Feebs are here.”

“Thanks, Warren. All well, Ramona?”

“Un huh, but we want to see that slow-mo footage. You all just blurred right out. Even my wolf couldn’t follow.” She paused. “Nice sword.”

“You bet. I’ll introduce you properly when we have time. Here we go.” I turned. “All well, Captain?”

“By some measure, Ms Hauptman. These are SAC Fredericks and SA Price. They want to take over the scene too.”

I offered a hand. “SAC, SA. You’ve been briefed by AED Westfield?”

“We have, Ms Hauptman.” He lowered his voice. “I’m to tell you, in this order, brava many times over ; that all known US seethes are secured, with waking vampires seeming to be in profound shock ; and that Europeans are finding the same thing. We’re to take clothes, effects, and dust into our custody, and he asks if whatever business took you Underhill is sorted, or if there’s anything he should do.”

“Good to know, it is, and there isn’t, thank you, SAC. Clothes and effects, yes, save phones, which we can hack faster, but dust, no. There was a ghastly amount of black witchcraft in Bonarata, and while the other dust’s only mould, who’s sorting? I’ll ask Ol’ Manitou River to deep six the lot. Or whatever you do on land. File under health hazard.”

He was taken aback. “Ah. I’ll ask the AED, if I can get him. He’s running pretty busy, as you’ll guess.”

“Ask away, SAC, but that dust’s going as soon as maybe. Preternatural _force majeure_ , with cause. Is anything else urgent?”

“The body of, ah, Ms Yakovlevna. PD covered it and we were going to shift it, but Mr Zao said to leave it for now.”

“Yeah. Witch on the way. We need to see it human.”

“Ah. Right. We did know, but this is all so odd.”

“Could be a lot odder, SAC, believe me. It’s in only three dimensions for a start. No magical duckponds either. So let’s be about it.”

The vacuuming was mostly complete — long-dead people don’t make a big heap of dust — and Bonarata had been done first. There were two heavy gold rings I had no desire at all to touch, but also slugs — my two silver ones, badly flattened, and seven wooden ones from Adam and Jesse that showed no damage save the rifling. I looked at the Captain and SAC.

“He had enough density or magic to stop slugs. The rounds that hit the others could be anywhere, though most are probably in the river. They won’t do anyone any harm, but you should try to find them.”

“We’ve found some, Ms Hauptman, and the Secret Service looked for their own. SOP. Unusual rounds.”

“We use what works, Captain.”

Irpa gathered phones and asked Vanna to take them to the Marrok. The SAC wasn’t happy, but the Captain was enjoying me overruling Feebs.

“Clothes and the rest are yours, SAC, but I’d burn Bonarata’s. Taints as bad as his tend to linger.”

Darryl and Auriele were still vacuuming as we collected bodyguards and Secret Service guys, and went towards Ol’ Manitou River. Both crews were filming and Al’s camera swung as Caroline came forward.

“Ms Hauptman, you’re well? And Miss Hauptman?”

“We’re good, thanks, Ms Taylor. It was a bad experience, but could have been a lot worse. I’m glad you’re all safe, and Al and Dwayne did fine jobs. But more has to wait until the President’s spoken to the nation, and I need to borrow Ol’ Manitou River for a moment, if it’s willing.”

Its head turned. _Surely, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars._ _What do you need?_

“A drop into deep magma, if Medicine Wolf told you about that?”

_By all means. That magic was abomination._

“Tell me. And might you do another quick read, and let Medicine Wolf know what you learn?”

I met its eyes and it absorbed the slow-mo sequence and what had happened Underhill. The Untenanted Duckpond brought a smile to the dark, sharp face, and I had that sense of distant concentration.

_Medicine Wolf is amused, as I am. It says ‘Attatriad’._

I laughed. “You could say. But I’m under the gun, here.”

_Indeed. Excuse me a moment, humans._

Penny and Caroline trailed us as we crossed to where vacuums had fallen silent. Bad smells leaked from bags and tubes, and safe was better than sorry.

“Don’t try removing bags, Darryl. We’ll deep six the lot and buy the NPS new ones. Note makes and models?”

SAC Fredericks looked a bit constipated, but it took Ol’ Manitou River no longer than it had Medicine Wolf to open a shaft, and in the poor vacuums went, the shaft resealing itself. We were in front of the Arch, dead centre, Ol’ Manitou River having assured the NPS guy it wouldn’t damage the Visitor Centre, just move some of itself aside for a second, and I thought having a massive, empty, uninscribed headstone was about right for Bonarata, sharing the idea with Adam, who took my hand.

“Just like that.” The PD Captain shook his head. “All the way down?”

 _Just to the mantle. Manitous are of the crust, but in exchange with what lies beneath us._ It looked round. _A white witch approaches._

“That’ll be Moira to deal with Lenka’s corpse.”

_Ah. May I watch? I have not seen such magic._

“Of course.”

The light was fading, but I could see Tom Yearman escorting Moira and pointed to the sheet-covered body before waving in Caroline and Penny.

“Your editors will want to blur blood and nudity, but there should be a record. No questions to the witch, unless she volunteers.”

They followed us, speaking on their phones, and with a quizzical look I took the hand Tom offered.

“Congratulations, Mercy. Don’t know what happened but you’re standing and they’re not. Hell of a takedown, however it worked. Sorry, Adam.”

“Nada, Tom.”

“How are you, Moira? Thanks for this.”

I took her hands so she’d know where I was and let her feel the cloak and put a hand to my face. I liked Moira a lot.

“This was a particularly frustrating day to be blind, Mercy, but I am very relieved you are safe. And Adam and Jesse. We’re on TV?”

“We are.”

“Right. It’s just the one wolf body?”

“It is.” Adam pulled off the sheet, and I guided Moira. “Smallish gaunt wolf, on her right side. You’re standing by her front legs. Took two silver bullets, head, and a post-mortem grizzly slam that looks to have broken ribs. There’s lingering magical contamination from her … late owner, though any power should be fried.”

“It is. Not a problem. Stand back.”

I shifted to stand by the SAC and PD captain. “Those silver slugs will be buried left and forward of where you were standing, Captain.”

“Right.” He gave me a sideways look. “In the video I thought you realised I was in your line of fire, and shifted. Stood tall as well.”

“Un huh. I try quite hard not to hit anything I’m not aiming at.”

“There was a leaping werewolf maybe eight feet from your face.”

“I had the time and no excuse for being careless.”

“Careless. Damn. Thank you for your care, Ms Hauptman, and I will make sure it’s known.”

“You’re welcome, Captain, and that would be good, thanks. Now it’s all blown wide, you could talk to Clay Willis of Kennewick PD if you need. He was a little inside the loop. Watch.”

Moira’s pale magic had pooled around the body and Lenka started to change. Without pain or organic systems to preserve change in a dead wolf is a lot faster than in a living one, but for all the speed it was ugly, not helped by the damage. One of my slugs had blown out her spine, the other her brain, and Jill had slammed her at speed, but it was as human skin slid over rearranged bodyparts that I felt bile rise. Deep bites were everywhere, neck, arms, breasts, stomach, stringy thighs and calves, feet, ridged with the scar tissue of multiple violent feedings.

“Jesus God!”

“They weren’t involved, SAC. You have it, Dwayne, Al?” They did, and I nodded. “Then you need to get those memory cards to WashU pronto, and let a local crew take over here. I’ll want this and the earlier sequence. You can come with us and the Freed. There should be Benny’s pies to settle stomachs.” I turned. “She’s all yours, Captain, SAC, though we’ll see to her burial. Her name was Lenka Yakovlevna, born in Slovakia about 1600. Resident in Rome since about 1700. And as you see, an addict, kept as a pet. Any number of European PDs might be interested in her fingerprints.” I looked at Al’s camera. “I’m not sure what anyone watching might be seeing, but producers, show at least an arm clearly, please. What matters, everyone, is that her body shows signs of serious addictive abuse, like needle scars in junkies except they don’t last four centuries and change. You might all think about what addiction means to the undying. I’m now heading to WashU so watch this space and your questions _will_ be answered as fully as continuing security concerns allow.”

I took a deep breath.

“And one more thing, which is that some of you may think I’m being strikingly callous, given that I shot and killed this poor wolf, this poor woman. It’s true my emotions are locked down, because I have to deal, but I feel pity, not guilt. She sought to kill me, so killing her is not a suboptimal outcome. After her long, long life of abuse she was also profoundly mad, and though you have only my word for that I’ll call her death a mercy, though it was not a mercy killing.”

I closed the empty eyes, laying hands on stomach, and crossed myself, ignoring the ghost that watched with mad eyes.

“Rest in Peace, Lenka Yakovlevna. You have already been avenged.”

No-one else was saying anything, though Jesse took my hand, and we farewelled Ol’ Manitou River, pulled in the Freed, and went. The big screen was only just up, but enough people had been watching on phones that the crowds were hushed. The cleared route was narrow, so Adam, Jesse, and I were in single file, Secret Service flanking us, and I couldn’t see much though I managed to smile at children perched on shoulders and peering down in the gloom. Or up, in Irpa’s case, though she went human-sized as we reached the parking lot. The stone Basilica with its columned portico seemed incongruous after the steel geometries of the Arch, but we hadn’t been there ten seconds when The Dagda strode out of an arch carrying a pallet piled with Benny’s boxes, and my stomach growled. The Secret Service knew better than to shoot at anything exiting an arch, but had a hard time not gawping as the pallet was set down.

“Mercedes Elf-friend, the human fare Gwyn ap Lugh promised you.” The Dagda straightened. “He says delivering these circular foods is a common occupation Overhill. I can smell why.”

I grinned at him. “Benny’s pies are exceptional, The Dagda, but Gwyn ap Lugh does not lie. You make a very superior delivery guy and us all glad.”

“That is well. Your deed deserves many feasts, beyond those you have mandated. Now you go to a different fight, and we wish you renewed success. Fare you well Overhill.”

“Fare you well Underhill, The Dagda. Does the pallet need returning?”

“Benny did not say so. He has several.”

And he was gone. I sighed.

“Stash it, Tom, and I’ll pick it up whenever? Thanks. Take a pie for your trouble, but not until I’ve secured mine.”

Yet another good thing about food was that as soon as anyone had a box all they wanted was a seat, and as there was a tub of meat for the four-legged in the coach the exodus was rapid. The motorcade was mostly SUVs, but there was a big-ass stretch limo riding so low it had to be armoured, and Adam, Jesse, and I wound up with Dan and the Joes, Brent, Jill, Warren, and Skuffles stretched out on the floor. Everyone was hungry, and Jill seriously so. I knew how much changes took out of me, and she’d done it twice in slow time. Going big rather than small made no odds, but a big body takes more effort to move, and she got through a second pie fast, slowing on a third. Skuffles looked less than resigned to not actually needing food. Chewing more meditatively, Jill sat back.

“Mercy, Momma said I’d see some strange if I did this, but she did not mention claiming legendary swords, laying a geas on Gray Lords, or having a very large one play pizza boy.”

“Well, she wouldn’t have, Jill. There’s a first time for everything.”

“Right. Gloss, please. Did ap Lugh know what you’d do?”

“Not unless Edythe saw it prophetically. But he knew I’d call them on the debt. He’d never have admitted it otherwise, because it threw them on my mercy. Every which way. It was an act of trust, and the substance of his apology.” I shrugged, taking another slice. “I could have done something more annoying but we’ll need to work together.”

Adam laughed. “You shocked them with mildness, love.”

“Whatever works.”

Marine Joe, hunger sated, was fairly vibrating in his seat. “That was the Dark Smith, Mercy? The one who made the dagger?”

“Yup.”

“And is that sword what I think it is? No idea what the rest meant, but you seemed to call her _Caledfwlch_ and I know my blade lore.”

“The one and only. If it’s willing, you can have a look back in Kennewick.”

“Cool. She’s an it?”

I grinned. “Zee calls blades _she_ , but to me a sword is masculine, a scabbard feminine. And I’m so not going there despite having etymology on my side and what this scabbard does. Stick to _she_ if you want.”

He fell silent, chewing on it with more pizza, and I had a chance to look out of the windows. We’d been in downtown canyons, but lights died away as we moved through parkland with dense trees. A run on four legs would be nice, and I knew Adam shared the thought. I sent him visions of what we might wind up doing instead, sliding from probability to wish fulfilment, and he gave me a warm smile.

“Probably not the last, love, though it’s tempting. You think he’ll show?”

“Probably. Best cold brain, for my money. He’ll see the point.”

The driver warned us we were two minutes out, and Adam went briefing officer. He didn’t think there was any real threat, but that meant squat with Jesse and me in a crowded public space. He called Darryl, behind us with David in one of the SUVs, and once we’d pulled into a WashU parking lot, clearing a security cordon, we waited until all SUVs and the coach were in, and exited the limo into a swirl of excited wolves, Secret Service, and campus cops with the Chancellor. The poor man was understandably frazzled, but keeping admirably calm, and offered a hand.

“Ms Hauptman. I’m very glad you could make it, after that, ah, unfortunate event.”

“Me too, Chancellor. And I owe you an apology, because I knew being in the open here would be bait for those who attacked us. I wasn’t at liberty to tell you, but I am sorry to have been less than fully honest about my motives in proposing this.”

“Ah. I heard you tell the police the attack was expected, but I can’t say I feel owed any apology, Ms Hauptman. And the President is waiting.”

“Yup. We can be polite, though, sir.”

I did principal introductions and we had a brisk discussion with Campus Police and Secret Service. Yes, we were all armed, it was staying that way, and I was keeping my sword. The beefy Campus Police Chief said he couldn’t allow a long blade, and I’d have to check it. Laughter I’d have a hard time stopping beckoned.

“Chief, believe me, you do not check Excalibur at the door. All else aside, it would probably come after me on its own, and I doubt you want that. Nor am I letting it out of my sight, period. I have no authority to overrule you except _force majeure_ , but that worked with the FBI. Then again, maybe your Chancellor can give you a waiver.”

He could, everyone was staring at Excalibur, and we started in. Some presidential debates here had been in quite small spaces, token audiences selected by lot, but tonight they were using a basketball arena, hoops out and stands on three sides packed to the rafters. A monitor showed the broadcast that had already started, and I paused to get layout straight. The court was filled with benches, a block kept clear for us, and a daïs had been created with tiled rostra for the moderators, a local news anchor and PoliSci prof, my twelve rivals in a curve, and me. A big screen behind the daïs showed the WashU seal with an overlay announcing a presidential campaign debate. And Senator Stupid was throwing his weight about, berating moderators for waiting and declaring I’d chickened out after my outrageous, egregious, and criminal magical assault on his august person. Audience faces I could see were stony, though Coyote, in the front row, was watching as he would a rabbit hopping into range.

“He really doesn’t learn, does he?” The Chancellor gave me a look. “One thing, sir, and we’re on.”

I called Al and Dwayne, and a campus cop escorted them to broadcast control clutching memory cards, a flash drive, and a question. Then everyone flooded past me, Adam with Jesse, flanked by guards, Ramona and the Freed surrounding Penny, Caroline, Don, and Vince. Senator Stupid broke off but began complaining again, loudly, when he saw four-leggers sitting neatly along the central aisle. Several growled, and he stuttered before claiming wanton intimidation until the Chancellor and I entered amid a Secret Service phalanx, Skuffles loping beside me.

“This is ridiculous! All this talk of—”

Magic wasn’t necessary, but taking charge was so I let Manannán’s Bane rise to point straight at the fool.

“Oh hush, Senator. All the grandstanding in the world won’t undo your political suicide today. Chancellor, sir, the President is waiting, but you are host and deserve the first word. Moderators, fellow candidates and debaters, I apologise for the hijack, but needs must. Control, please put the President on as soon as the Chancellor’s done.”

By then we’d negotiated the wolf-lined aisle and stepped onto the daïs. I took myself off to a lectern on one side, Skuffles eyeing the opposition with disdain, and the Chancellor collected a cordless mike.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” He glanced sideways. “And Senators.”

I stifled a laugh, thinking I’d need to watch the bubbling relief that was harder to hold down than shock and sorrow.

“There is much I would say and little I may, for we have been overtaken by events. I am profoundly glad Ms Hauptman survived the assassination attempt this afternoon, and ask you all now to listen to the President of the United States, who has invoked national security to override the usual protocols for this event.” He turned to the screen, where an image had come up. “Mr President …”

His uncertainty was because the Man wasn’t alone. The screen had the same view of a crowded Oval Office I’d seen weeks back, AED and agency Directors on one side, Joint Chiefs on the other, medals and dress uniforms gleaming.

“Thank you, Chancellor.”

He nodded and retreated to a seat in the front row.

“My fellow Americans, I do not interrupt a presidential debate lightly. Today’s events are matters of national security, and more than one secret has been revealed that all citizens now have the right to know, and need to understand. What happened when Ms Hauptman left the successful meeting with Ol’ Manitou River was indeed an assassination attempt. The shots in Kennewick last week came from the same perpetrators, and those perpetrators were vampires.”

Skuffles looked up at me in the brief silence. _Pins dropping._

I didn’t disagree, and scratched her skulls-and-roses ruff.

“Yes, you heard right. Vampires. The Undead.” The Man sat back. “The Federal Government knew when the Fae came out there must be more kinds of preternatural out there. Careful negotiation had werewolves coming out, five years ago, and last year we learned of Great Manitous and Elder Spirits with their avatars. That led to the Medicine Wolf Accords, and to echo Miss Hauptman it is not partisan to say Ms Hauptman was their principal sponsor, the driving force that brought different kinds together to benefit each and all by finding a peaceful way forward — the strategies we have learned to call the Paths of Assertion, Mercy, and the Manitou. And the Accords changed everything, because neither humans of the US, nor the Fae, nor Werewolves, nor Elder Spirits and avatars, were alone any more. We all had some agreed mutual defence and collectively enhanced capabilities. And we all knew there was at least one eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room no-one was mentioning — another preternatural kind that wasn’t out, and was a serious problem for everyone. Humans, fae, avatars, and wolves were dying, many citizens. But even if you have the best human technology, the best preternatural magic, and a new alliance that feels honest and strong, fighting together is not straightforward. From my point-of-view, and those of the agency directors and Joint Chiefs, what happened is that Ms Hauptman once again stepped forward to broker a development of the Medicine Wolf Accords, signing us all up to a very carefully designed strike against our mutual … I won’t say enemy, but mutual problem, the vampires.”

The Man was looking straight at camera as fiercely as one of those _Uncle Sam Wants You_ posters.

“With vampires, most clichés are true. Fangs, blood, sunlight, staking with wood, coffins — and in some cases evident malice I won’t hesitate to call evil. But only some. Every preternatural kind has its own imperatives, driven by their particular magic. The Fae cannot lie or break oaths, so they’re very careful indeed about what they say and promise. Werewolves give outstanding military service, but do not have a choice about changing at full moon, or obeying orders from their Alpha and the Marrok. Elder Spirits can be very helpful, but their primary concern is rightly with their own animal and human kinds, who do not see things as Second People do. And vampires are subject to magical and other ties binding them to those who Turned them into vampires, and those they feed from. That means they tend to rigid hierarchy and rapid obedience, and until today that had them subject to the meanest, strongest, most extreme and violent of their kind. His code-name was Sauron, which tells you everything, and it became clear nothing good would happen while he ruled their roost. There were vampires who wanted to be law-abiding citizens, but they were up against orders they couldn’t disobey to be otherwise. And there was a vampire underground that wanted change, but couldn’t force it. It was all what my late mother, bless her, would have called a sick dog’s breakfast, pain and fear blocking every avenue, but Ms Hauptman found a way through, at grave personal risk, and today was the result — a very good result indeed, for every citizen.”

That was a very generous version of events, and the Man was on a roll.

“Sauron died today in Gateway Park, or the Fae would say he was dismissed, as he’d already been dead for centuries. Every federal agency represented here was waiting on the event, and while I cannot say no vampire remains at large, every known US seethe is now under federal supervision, with a great deal of preternatural aid. I specifically note generous help given by the Fae, under the terms of the Medicine Wolf Accords, which makes me and all those with me very glad. Vampires exist worldwide, so other governments have been briefed, and are moving against undeclared vampires in their midst. Police and military operations continue round the globe, and we shall see what we shall see, but in this nation at least vampires who were citizens when alive still are, and those who agree to a stringent, closely supervised Code of Conduct are being protected while statements and records are checked. There will be fallout and mistakes, inevitably, but I am relieved, satisfied, and proud to be able to tell you all that today a serious preternatural problem has been very positively and productively resolved. And again, it is not partisan to say this is overwhelmingly the achievement of Ms Hauptman, with many preternaturals in support. It is simple fact, and details of what happened today are not mine to report, not least because they are magically beyond my understanding. Ms Hauptman, would you please tell your fellow Americans what went down, as you understand it?”

“Of course, Mr President.”

I took a cordless mike, and stepped past the lectern, Skuffles beside me, to stand in open space.

“I abandon the lectern because I’m not campaigning or debating. And in explaining events today the starting point has to be why preternaturals who knew vampires were killing humans, which includes me, said nothing for so very long. Many answers converge.”

I held up a hand, extending fingers as I enumerated points.

“When all preternatural kinds were hidden, none outed any other, and it would have been suicide to do so, all turning on the traitor. Each kind was a true threat to every other. Vampires are not numerous — there are probably four or five thousand in the US — but they are very fast, very strong, magically potent in mind-control, and ruthless. They also have witches and wizards who can be _real_ trouble, of the massacre kind. The one the President called Sauron, Iacopo Bonarata, was an extreme case, and wielded great power. To go up against him was to risk not only one’s own life but everyone dear — family, friends, and community could all be targeted. So we had good and honest reason to stay silent. But then came the Medicine Wolf Accords, and parameters shifted. The preternatural owed humans honesty, humans owed the preternatural understanding, all were oathbound, and vampires stuck in everyone’s craw, but as the President said, the problem wasn’t every last vampire.”

I held up one hand.

“Sidenote, but heed me well. A US general once said the only good Indian he ever saw was a dead Indian. The KKK thought the same about free African Americans, and more recently, Cantrip’s Xavier MacLandis pretty much said the only good preternatural was a dead preternatural. Does anyone really want to try to say the only good vampire is a dead vampire? Remembering they are all by definition dead anyway. There are good and bad vampires, as there are good and bad humans, wolves, and fae, but vampires were subject to a leadership both fiercely malign and neglectful, like a nation under violent dictatorship, so they are also a traumatised kind. We needed regime change allowing reform and recovery, and the Medicine Wolf Accords made action possible through alliance between humans, wolves, Elder Spirits, Medicine Wolf, and Fae. Preternatural kinds had knowledge of vampires, with magics to counter theirs, humans had personnel resources and authority to freeze bank accounts, seize property, and talk to other governments. And as I, in my coyote nature, stand between kinds, known to the President and senior humans, as to Elder Spirits, Marrok, Medicine Wolf, and Gray Lords, I could broker a meeting to develop strategy.

“That continues to unfold, and there are components involving federal and magical secrets, and diplomatic confidence. But I can say that two weeks ago tonight, on behalf of all, I gave the vampire dictator, Iacopo Bonarata, an ultimatum. Vampires had six weeks to out themselves or be outed and face concerted action. In the US they were required to register, with the humans they live with and feed on, and sign up to the Code of Conduct the President mentioned about feeding, Turning humans into vampires, and use of magic. And Bonarata, who styled himself Master of the Night, did not take it well, deciding the best response was to kill the messenger. The facts that he found his illegal bank accounts drained, and his hoard of bullion, stolen artworks, and papers discovered at that villa, failed to improve his thinking. But as his attempts to kill me kept failing, and humans acting on preternatural intelligence kept chewing away at his wealth and its criminal sources, he found his authority undermined, putting pressure on him to act personally, and that happened today.”

The Italian villa sat everyone up, not that there’d been much slouching.

“But I need to go back, because Bonarata was code-named Sauron for good reasons, largely magical. Vampires are already dead, and the only ways to achieve a final death, Fae dismissal, are exposure to sunlight, cardiac staking with wood, decapitation, and immolation. Those four and no more. But some vampires can daywalk, enduring sunlight, and then there were three. Others translocate, which makes staking, beheading, or setting them on fire tricky. And Bonarata had all sorts of invulnerabilities. But his tale should be told traditionally.”

I wished I could sit cross-legged.

“Once upon a time there was a not-so-bright faerie queen who thought she had enchanted a human wizard. But he was a black wizard, and instead he ensorcelled her, and so it remained until their daughter, half-fae, half-human, and very magically gifted on both sides, killed them both to steal their powers. I don’t know her name, because no-one ever speaks it. They call her She of Livorno, as that’s where she wound up, worse than ever, because she’d also become vampire. I never met her, thank God, but I understand that while she needed her fae mother’s magic, which was of life, she was ruled by her father’s wizardry, which like all black witchcraft was of death and works by torture and murder. Joining that to the inverted magic of vampirism made for _very_ bad synergies, and while She of Livorno walked this earth she was among the worst things there have ever been. Call her Morgoth to Bonarata’s Sauron. But eventually, meaning late Renaissance, after she was severely magically wounded in a battle with Fae a vampire coalition got her, and the conspirators included the next most powerful vampire wizard, and Bonarata, who was a null, a non-magic-user with some immunity to magic. I’m told She of Livorno died by multiple methods, staked, decapitated, and burnt, and finally crumbled into dust, but that didn’t mean her black magic all went away. Those who dismissed her grabbed chunks, and despite his nullness Bonarata gained a Fae tolerance of sunlight and the magic of corporeal rejoining — like the Green Knight in _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_. Sir Gawain chops his head off, and he picks it up and sets it back where it ought to be. So then there were two, except Bonarata also got immunity to staking, Fae liking wood just fine, so then there was one. Or maybe none, because no-one ever managed to set him on fire either. And he set about being vampire Sauron happily ever after, for a purely personal value of happy. Not so much for anyone else. But.”

On impulse I gave Manannán’s Bane a Charlie Chaplin twirl.

“Good minds suspected Bonarata had yet another, really sick bit of magic. Vampire feeding can, I am told and have seen, be immensely pleasurable for both feeder and donor. It can also kill the donor, because without enough blood circulating a human body stops living. And for every vampire except She of Livorno and Bonarata what happens if they drain a donor is the donor’s death, creating a distressed ghost vampires neither see nor control. That’s why avatars have a bad history with vampires. We _do_ see those ghosts, and know just how unhappy they are, so we can find vampire dwellings and are inclined to do something about it. But we would not have been able to find She of Livorno or Bonarata, because they were able to drink not only blood, but ghosts. And they used them as another unlife-support system. Whatever tricks poltergeists get up to tapping ambient magic, ghosts are by definition immaterial, so sunlight, staking, decapitation, and immolation have no effect on them. As I once told AED Westfield, you can’t shoot an earthquake. So incorporating braided ghosts within fae-based, witchcraft-boosted magic of rejoining was really bad news for everyone. But avatars can command ghosts, and if you can knock magic off-kilter, removing a component, the rest tends to unravel.

“There was another factor at work. Being very old makes for being very set in your ways, and being very powerful makes for being very used to getting your way, so Bonarata was predictable. And more good minds thought that if I personally drew his ire by delivering the ultimatum with scorn and needle, he would fixate on killing me and default to his known pattern of escalation, which was first, send a pet assassin, second, order a mass attack by the nearest seethe, and third, come himself, wielding fire and brimstone in extreme personal … well, he’d have said wrath, breathing pride the while, not that vampires do breathe, but it was more terminally petulant indignation. Either way, the good minds were right.”

There was water on the lectern so I drank. Skuffles gave me a look.

_Minds, plural, is a bit of a fib, Mercy. It was us._

I gave her a look back, but no other reply.

“The ultimatum was delivered a fortnight ago, on Friday April 25th, and at the same time Bonarata’s accounts were hacked and more than a hundred billion dollars siphoned out. Sunday 27th I had AED Westfield and Director Wiseman of the Farouts, the FBPA, to dinner, on vampire and other preternatural business. We were just done eating when a magical alarm went off, because one of our guardian oaks had dismissed an intruding vampire — Alessandro di Ragusa, one of Bonarata’s assassins carrying a sniper rifle with silver slugs. Strike one to us. Wednesday 30th I gave my second broadcast, confirming my candidacy after your generous responses to it and SAGE, and that night shots were fired, but what they set off was not, as purported, a magical alarm. The shots were aimed at patrolling wolves and followed by massed vampire attack — fourteen of them with a weapon they believed would get them over our threshold. The light was Underhill’s sunlight, which dismissed all fourteen in a heartbeat. Occlusion of photography let us clean up dust and the weapons they carried. Strike two to us. Next day Bonarata’s villa and personal hoard went west, and it became known among US vampires that some of the billions taken from Bonarata would be available, through what we called the Borrowed Warchest, to help them and their donors if they signed up. European police forces were moving against drug- and people-smuggling rings Bonarata ran, so his operating capital fell hard just as his reserves were wiped out. And meantime, the main parties here put on their barking bigotry show in DC, Medicine Wolf told me about Ol’ Manitou River, and I set up today and this evening … which meant Adam and I would be in the open all day, out of Medicine Wolf’s territory on world TV. How potent a victory would it have been for Bonarata to kill us under the Arch St Louis calls the Gateway to the West? How satisfying a revenge for insulting his Supreme Undeadness? But there are people who say the Arch isn’t the Gateway to the West but the Exit from the East.”

I drank, seeing Adam’s and Jesse’s eyes dark on me.

“We knew Bonarata’s enforcers included Lenka Yakovlevna, a widowed werewolf he’d suborned and to whose blood he was addicted, and at least seven translocating daywalkers, so we planned accordingly. The magical spread of abilities among bodyguards was part of it, and Secret Service agents on us, who have been exemplary, were briefed. There were other preparations, magical and practical, including an unannounced three-second transmission delay today so that if Bonarata translocated in based on what he saw on screen his positioning would be off — which in the event it was.” My gaze found Missouri. “That’s why I cut you off earlier, sir, before you could mention my insistence on no local screens, and I’m sorry for the necessary discourtesy. Anyway, when Bonarata made his move we were ready, and with a frankly colossal magical expenditure as well as a great deal of luck able to defeat it. To go further you need to see what happened. The President has already seen it. There’s no soundtrack. Control room, bring up Dwayne’s footage at a sensible rate, please.”

As it rolled I could explain, without much explanation, slow time, IDs I knew of daywalkers, the vile sacrificial tactic they’d tried, sleeping vamps murdered in hope their dust would obscure, slugs grown Underhill for Glock 22s, the exemplary discipline everyone had shown, including Jesse, Skuffles as maxi-me, Jill as a Daughter of Bear, magmatic Joel, Coyote _really_ disapproving of vampires, and Carnwennan’s ancient bond with Excalibur and recent friendship with Manannán’s Bane. I was growing weary, and my arms ached.

“In short, when I saw Bonarata’s bond of rejoining and braided ghosts, I asked Excalibur to attend me, used avatar magic to blow ghosts out of the bond, and freed them while severing both bond and the magic that bound them. Neither shows on camera, but that’s why two fountains of sparks. Bonarata was dismissed, and that was that, save for some really violent retching, because his dust tasted worse than anything you can begin to imagine. The salt water Ol’ Manitou River kindly provided nixed residual black witchcraft, and we went Underhill to have Excalibur cleansed of stain, which needed the Dark Smith’s forge. There were also preternatural repercussions that needed immediate attention from more than me, and got it. When we returned we dealt with Bonarata’s contaminated dust, and the body of Lenka Yakovlevna. Control room, please put up as uncensored an image as you think lawful.”

I was surprised by how graphic it was. Breasts and groin were barred, the rest was in sharp and remorseless focus.

“This poor werewolf was Bonarata’s pet for centuries. The scars are from violent feeding, and you can see her emaciation. And that is exactly what is wrong with the worst vampires. _He_ was addicted to her blood, but _her_ body carried the pain and repugnant scars. Think about that, and what enslavement means when death don’t have no mercy in your land. She was once a good wolf, an Alpha’s mate. Then she was a widow, which happens to werewolves too often, and in her grief Bonarata took her, human and wolf at a go. She became his pet, slave, lover, bloodbank, self-indulgence, and assassin. Her human was shrivelled to nothing, her wolf in charge yet subjugated and mad. She was upright and grieving, and Bonarata made her an abomination even to herself.”

I knew my eyes were golden, and drank, hauling in what I could.

“If Bonarata had not translocated into Gateway Park with every intent to kill me and mine, I could not have dismissed him. But he did and I did. And even so, as some will not hesitate to say, it is not wholly untrue that I assassinated him. I set him up to try, and slew him when he did, much to his surprise. I had an enormous amount of help, from every source I could tap, and laid my life on the line for the chance. But it was still a set-up, vamping the vamp to well-deserved dismissal, and if that’s held against me come Judgement Day there are two arguments I’ll make to my God in my defence. One is Lenka Yakovlevna, as you see her, though I doubt my God will need those nudity bars. And the second is the braided ghosts I freed, plus three particular vampires Bonarata ordered dismissed, and ten more. I think that faerie queen and black wizard were among the ghosts, and She of Livorno — there was _very_ concentrated evil and malevolence amid all the suffering. Eons of it, now ended.” I gave a wry smile. “I am not given to imagining myself as Christ, but today I harrowed a secondary hell. Make of it what you will.”

Water was a more useful prop than I’d realised, I decided, refilling my glass amid profound silence.

“As to those three and ten vampires, the three were among Cantrip’s captives in Wyoming. Preternaturals freed them that night with everyone else, and concealed them — this was before the Medicine Wolf Accords, — but it did them no good, because Bonarata ordered them dismissed — murdered — for the shameful crime of having been overpowered by a mad werewolf and humans with enough knowhow and resources to cage them.” I had to haul in rising rage again. “If you’ve never been there you’ll have to take my word for it, but having someone you’ve rescued murdered in the coldest blood, literally, makes it very personal. So did willingness to target Adam and Jesse, and those multiple bodyguards she has to have. I only knew about the ten sacrificed today when it happened, but it’s more of the same — vamps picked out of coffins in day-deadness, to be tossed into sunlit oblivion in the hope of blinding with dust. You might as well toss sleeping babies out of a car to slow pursuit. So I say to you, and if I am ever called to do so will say to my God sitting in judgement, that some crimes warrant summary execution. End of story. But then it usually comes down to trial by combat, as it did today. And with the combined efforts of many beings, human and preternatural, Iacopo Bonarata is now fried dust inside fried vacuum cleaner, being subducted into the mantle. What went down today was good riddance to evil rubbish, and incurred no debts not already discharged, so all returns to outbalance all. Mr President, sir?”

My phrasing had warned him, and he nodded deeply.

“Thank you, Ms Hauptman, for that clear and memorable account, and for your … extreme valour covers it, I think. I told you when I first saw that footage that you deserve a medal, and you have your nation’s proudest and warmest thanks. So do Mr Hauptman, Miss Hauptman, and, with the usual caution about those fae whose actions make us very glad, all who participated in today’s resonant victory.” He shifted to look out. “And that remarkable victory is the message to take from today, my fellow Americans. Neither humans, Fae, wolves, nor any kind alone could have defeated Bonarata. But together we could, and did, to the greatest benefit of all. And Ms Hauptman took point, walking well ahead to ensure the fire fell on her, because she believed, rightly as it turns out, that her coyote combination of unusual magics and luck gave her the best chance of surviving, of killing instead of being killed. She is not yet thirty-five, she could live for ever with her husband and mate, and still she walked into terrible harm’s way, knowing full well what she did. And today, by God, she triumphed, harrowing a hell, dismissing a devil and all his works, and to do so summoned Excalibur out of legend to her hand. She also made sure she and everyone armed in her entourage had all the correct state licenses to carry openly or concealed, and liaised properly with me, every agency here represented, St Louis PD, and all the people she introduced to Ol’ Manitou River. And if the main parties might call this partisan, I’d say it’s purely patriotic to point out the blazing refutation of what Ms Hauptman called their barking bigotry show. Incapable is _really_ not the word for her, and if anyone still wonders why I endorse her for election to my present post, think about that and give thanks, as I do. Any president has an absolute responsibility to the safety of all Americans, short- and longer-term, and I’ve barely mentioned Ol’ Manitou River, whom Secretary Sawyer and I will meet tomorrow. I’ve made my choice for November, but as we’re a democracy, you all have to make your own, and that’s what presidential debates are for. Moderators, my thanks, and the floor is yours.”


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter Fifty-One**

The Man enjoyed dropping my rivals right in it — Directors and Joint Chiefs left but he stayed, and I could see the glint in his eye — but he’d dropped the poor moderators in it too, and with their schedule toast they weren’t sure what to do. After a minute of confused counter-suggestions, I gave Skuffles a look and she gave a loud enough yip to bring silence. I offered everyone as warm a smile as I could manage.

“SOP isn’t going to work, is it? And to be fair, my rivals have had a great deal to take in, including any amount of stuff they can try to use as political ammunition. They all seriously need to score points, so how about each gets a question, one-minute max, and I’ll try to answer?”

It gave each a promise of spotlight, and senior senators could go first, which they were bursting to do. Senator Stupid had served one term less than his opposite number, who squared shoulders.

“Ms Hauptman, may I clarify some points of fact before proceeding?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. You said one of your, ah, guardian oaks, I believe, killed a vampire who trespassed on your land?”

“Correct.”

“How did a tree kill a vampire?”

“Grew a twig through him. Control room, can we have the first and second images from my flashdrive, please, split screen.” The first showed clothes hanging from the twig, dust beneath, the second the contents of the briefcase. “The FBI were present, with Kennewick PD, and other authorities were promptly informed. With old vampires, and di Ragusa was five hundred and change, there’s not much dust to vacuum, but the FBI took it, the clothes, effects, and gun, and its ballistics data interested a bunch of European PDs.”

“I see.” I doubted it, and as the Man came back on screen I thought he did too. “So the law was observed?”

“Which law did you have in mind, Senator? Taking a statement from an oaktree’s not so easy, though I did have an oakman check its wellbeing. Vampire-slaying was a new departure, and trees aren’t big on innovation. The law hasn’t much to say about dismissing the undead, though that will be changing, but yes, as AED Westfield was in charge, under presidential authority, protocols were observed.”

“After a fashion. Presidential candidates are not supposed to kill people, Ms Hauptman, and you seem to do that a lot.”

“Aren’t they, Senator? Presidents do a lot of killing, though rarely in person, I grant. But my bottom line is simple — if a being is trying to kill me, I’ll try to kill him, her, or it. I don’t do murder, only self-defence.”

“You do it a lot.”

“I do it when necessary, Senator. Di Ragusa’s on the oak, though I’ll take responsibility for having it there and being his target. The fourteen vampires dismissed on the 30th walked into a trap that would not have harmed anyone else, and came intending massacre. Control room, images three and four, please, split screen again. Those rifles matched the silver slugs, you can see multiple other weapons, and that charming version of Grond is a battering-ram. Weighs sixty-some pounds, and at the time had vampire magic in it, but the sunlight burned that out. Any which way, they were armed and dangerous, and rushed the house at one in the morning. FBI were informed and examined everything. And of the twenty-two beings who died in Gateway Park today, the sleepers were dismissed by their own, daywalkers by Secret Service agents, bodyguards, and Tad and Zee Adelbertsmiter. I killed Lenka Yakovlevna, and a coalition of kinds and magics dismissed Bonarata. It’s true police procedures have been delayed — I have to give the PD my statement after this, lucky coyote that I am — but I have been busy and the matter was discussed with the PD and President. What exactly are you taking issue with, Senator?”

“A lot of people die round you, Ms Hauptman, however you cut it.”

“A lot of people die around military action, Senator, which is what I’ve been doing. And yes, a lot of people who attack preternaturals wind up dead, because d’oh, preternaturals have magic and strength. Then again, I’ve been working on that. No human–fae war. Preternatural co-operation with one another and humans, on this occasion against vampires, who were killing a lot of people. So maybe the answer is that a lot of people die around me because I have a habit of walking into war zones and trying to stop the fighting. Are we onto your actual question, by the way, or still clarifying points of fact? You’ve certainly exceeded your minute.”

He was rattled, and Senator Stupid was chomping at the bit, but he had to try to assert himself.

“Points of fact, Ms Hauptman. My question is why you believe yourself above the law, as you clearly do?”

“Which law have I broken, or anyone with me today, Senator?”

“I can’t count them.”

“Try. Can you make it to one? Having seen that footage, St Louis PD couldn’t. But you’re probably angling at separate but equal justice for preternaturals, and that’s necessary. Suppose a vampire stole something, warranting a custodial sentence. But the vampire can translocate right out of any cell you might be able to lock it in. A wolf behind steel bars can just bend them and leg it. And what does a life sentence mean if you don’t die? You want a three-strikes law to mean a thousand years of custodial costs? Or to try to execute a vampire by electric chair or lethal injection because that’s what a state law mandates? I know you’d like a snappy soundbite but this is not straightforward stuff, Senator, so if you’re really sniping at me, get your facts a lot more clarified than you’ve managed, and if it’s separate but equal, get real.”

Senator Stupid leaped into the breach.

“Those are things _you_ need to do, Mrs Hauptman. Half the claptrap you’ve spouted has no corroboration at all. Faerie queens, wizards, claiming that gewgaw is Excalibur. And it’s all so very convenient for you.”

“Gewgaw?” My eyebrows were high. “Can’t say I rate your powers of observation, Senator, and if you think assassination attempts are convenient I pray you never find out why they really aren’t.”

“For all anyone knows, Mrs Hauptman, you are no more than an inventive liar, and you are certainly using gross intimidation — you’re covered in weapons, and that ghastly beast beside you should be evicted at once.”

_Try it, senator. And my name is Skuffles._

She’d come to her feet and everyone heard. Senator Stupid goggled, and I couldn’t stop a laugh.

“Some free advice, Senator. Annoying Skuffles is even sillier than annoying me. And of course I’m covered in weapons — I set out this morning expecting an assassination attempt from the most powerful vampire in the world, I luckily acquired another along the way, and as I told the Chief of Campus Police, you really don’t check Excalibur at the door. And even unarmed I have my magic, so you could call me a walking weapon, as anyone trained to martial arts is. But let’s see if we can get you out of the declarative mode and into the interrogative. What do you think I’m lying about, Senator? I’m sure there are ever so many answers, but let’s go one at a time, and first up is?”

He gave me a truly poisonous look.

“Vampires are so very fast, so strong, you say. Prove it.”

I raised eyebrows again. “Did you actually watch that footage, Senator? You do realise it was in very slow motion? Bonarata translocated in carrying a two-hundred-pound werewolf in less than half-a-second. And did you notice his decapitated torso struggling hard to rise despite having Skuffles to its chest, a grizzly on one arm, an Elder Spirit on the other, and fifteen hundred pounds of magmatic tibicena on its legs? These things, Senator, carefully considered, do rather suggest Bonarata was very fast and very strong. But perhaps you think he was an exception, and most vampires are ninety-eight-pound weaklings who missed out on Charles Atlas. Or maybe it’s just a rhetorical question you think puts me on the spot. Still, let’s see if we can get you your proof. Control room, please put on screen for viewers GPS co-ords for the centre of this daïs. Thank you.”

I again moved away from the lectern.

“No guarantees, people, but I can extend an invitation, and US vampires already registered and signed up to the Code of Conduct might like a chance to say hello. One warning, because vampires are in shock tonight from the feeding and Turning ties that died with Bonarata, so who knows what we’ll get, but the senator deserves his reassurances, don’t you think?” There were so many varieties of silence, and I enjoyed this one as I faced a camera. “Thomas Hao, if you wish to translocate to those GPS co-ords I specifically invite you alone to enter this building. The senator has doubts as to vampires’ power and it seems sensible for everyone to be assured messing with one is rarely a good idea, especially if you’re human. Come in peace, on behalf of your kind in the US, and be received in peace.”

Hao was no child of Bonarata’s, and vamps needed to speak, so I didn’t think it’d be long, and it wasn’t. At normal speed, even knowing how it was done, I couldn’t see the slice-and-walk-through ; he just appeared centre-stage, impeccably suited, and ignored gasps to take two slow paces, gazing at me, and bowed, deeply. Yet another flavour of silence appeared.

“Thomas Hao, thank you for coming promptly, but I need no bow.”

“Oh but you do, Mercedes Hauptman, Elf-friend and Troll-friend, for you have done what we despaired of achieving. All honour to you. Many of my kind rejoice, however we are outed, for we are delivered by your hand from a great evil.”

“Not by my hand alone, and by the valour of many.”

“And yet without you Bonarata would not be cinders in the mantle, as nameless as air within the Arch.” Trust a vamp to see it. “I cannot speak for all my kind in this nation, but for Western and Mid-Western seethes I offer our deepest thanks. And Stefan Uccello the Warrior asks me to tell you he too rejoices in your most astonishing deed.”

That brought a real smile to my face. “You and all registered vampires are welcome, and please give Stefan my best.”

“Of course. Introduce me to all the nice humans?”

We turned to face the audience and cameras.

“Fellow Americans, and all who watch, this is Thomas Hao, born a US citizen sometime in the nineteenth century, now senior vampire in San Francisco. I was not dealing with human–vampire negotiations but am aware he has been very helpful to the FBI and others. Mr Hao?”

“Thank you, Ms Hauptman. Fellow Americans, know that I and all my kind are truly in deep shock, however most are also overjoyed. It will take a while for us to recover our wits and re-organise with the FBPA, but we are doing so as fast as we can, with the aid of Director Wiseman and AED Westfield. Those free of Bonarata’s control, unconnected to him or any of his Turning, have always lived as the Code of Conduct now binds all to do. We need to feed, but we seduce, and care for those who feed us, physically, mentally, financially, and magically. Bonarata raped and killed as much with neglect as with intent, and you saw the scars on that poor werewolf to whose blood he was addicted. He was, in every way Mercedes Hauptman has said and more, a monster, the nearest thing to a devil out of hell I have ever known, as a score of vampires many times my age agree. But we are not as he was, and glad now to be able to live openly and law-abidingly among you, walking a Path of Mercy and offering what strengths we have to projects that benefit all.”

That was more than I’d expected this soon, and shocked as everyone was it was a comfort.

“Yet there is also the Path of Assertion, and as we walk openly among you, so we will defend ourselves against any attack.” He turned. “You doubt that vampires are very … fast, Senator?”

In his fractional pause he moved a dozen paces to stand directly in front of the senator, who jerked back behind his lectern, revealing really poor reaction time, especially as Hao had already grasped the end of the senatorial tie. Senator Stupid had some weight but Hao’s hand didn’t budge an inch as he came to the end of his tether and bounced back.

“And very strong, yes? Let’s see.”

Abruptly, the senator was cradled in Hao’s arms as he looked up, taking a step clear of the lectern and gauging the height of the roof, while I held my breath and thought this might be better than my best imagining.

“Do stay still, senator, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

And with an easy heft Hao threw Senator Stupid twenty-some feet straight up, cameras tilting as they followed, and caught him when he came down again, deftly setting him upright.

“Faster than you can see, senator, and stronger than you can stop. And one more thing, maybe.” Hao turned. “Mr President, as a signatory to the US Vampire Code of Conduct, I am sworn not to use magic on any human without their informed consent. I have to doubt the senator’s would be forthcoming, and it is not entirely clear to me that he is informed about anything much, so I wonder if I might have your let to demonstrate briefly, and on my word without lasting harm, save perhaps to pride and ego, what vampires are now rightly forbidden to do. I believe a demonstration, this night, will serve our national security and interests.”

Senator Stupid was trying to decide if he would go white or puce, with unhappy results, and the Man cocked his head.

“I follow the logic, Mr Hao, but while I can grant permission for a demonstration, and disallow any claim of oathbreach, I cannot indemnify you against any lawsuit the senator might bring concerning assaults on his person.”

“And do you grant permission, Mr President? I will not break my oath.”

“I do, Mr Hao.”

“Thank you. Mmm. Assaults on your person, senator? No harm, no foul, but you’re not one to trust.” Hao looked at me. “I don’t think it likely, Ms Hauptman, but if he ever persuades a jury to award real damages might they be covered by the Borrowed Warchest? This demonstration is in aid of successful integration, after all.”

I swallowed a laugh. “By all means, Mr Hao. I’m sure the trustees would look favourably on such an application.”

“Splendid. Now then.”

“Get away from m—”

Senator Stupid’s reactions let him down again, and Hao caught his eye.

“There, there, senator. You’ve had a rough old day, haven’t you, and it’s only got worse. Do come here and let me kiss it better.”

There was another kind of silence as the senator took a slow pace towards Hao, face relaxing. Hao effortlessly unpicked the tightly knotted tie and redid it, but left it loose and undid the senator’s collar.

“I’m a little thirsty. Do kneel and offer me your throat.”

Senator Stupid did that while the world held its breath in fascinated unease. Hao looked at the audience, opened his mouth to bring fangs out with a snick — _True Blood_ got that right — and leaned in to look the senator in the eye from about two inches.

“Boo!”

Hao snapped fingers as he withdrew magic in pure showmanship, and the senator showed his slowness one more time. It was a good second of bug-eyed staring before he tried to lurch up and back, only to find himself held by one of Hao’s hands on a shoulder, while the other did up his collar before tightening his tie to a comfortable fit.

“Senator, you asked Ms Hauptman to prove vampires were very fast and very strong. She has done so, simultaneously proving you very weak and very slow. With reactions like that you could be blindsided by a tortoise, so it is hardly an accomplishment but answers your inane doubts.”

Hao strolled back towards me, cocking his head.

“Is there anything else, Ms Hauptman? I am at your disposal, but there is much else I might be about, daywalking by night.”

“One thing, Mr Hao. Please explain that phrase to everyone. I know what it means to me. What does it mean to you and your kind, now?”

“Much.” He looked at audience and camera. “Vampires who walk under the sun are daywalkers. Thinking of compliant vampires, Ms Hauptman created a hashtag, _#DaywalkingByNight_. It means living by ethical human values even when consigned to darkness, transparent to human medical supervision in matters of feeding, free of fear and loathing. It means being without Bonarata, accepting law and self-discipline. It is vampires’ Path of Mercy, to walk with honour and charity because he is at last dust and it can be more than a dream.”

“You bet it can, Mr Hao. That reminds me, though — Bonarata had two gold rings, Dark Lord style, but I couldn’t sense any magic. Any reason to worry about them?”

“Not that I know, Ms Hauptman. He loved his gold. I would melt them to burn out taint, but doubt any true force.”

“OK. Thanks. That’s good to know, and FBI, please note that advice. Can you ID the vampires who were sacrificed?”

“Six were from his own seethe, I think. Europeans, anyway. Four were taken from East St Louis, at random as far as I know.”

He named them, and I nodded.

“Thank you, and go safe, Mr Hao, with all luck in the work of reform.”

“Indeed. And to you, Mercy the Vampire-slayer.”

He translocated out with a half-grin, and I shook my head.

“Someone was always going to go there. Headline-writers, be aware I think _very_ poorly of bad puns. Anyway, Senator, you asked and I’ve answered. QED. Vampires are really not to be messed with lightly, and as you might have noticed it took multiple bullets, two trolls with bigtime clubs, Skuffles, a grizzly bear, Coyote, and a tibicena as well as me, a whopping gift of Underhill’s magic, and Excalibur working with Carnwennan and Manannán’s Bane to dismiss Bonarata. File under messing with vampires heavily, as in every scrap of weight I could beg, borrow, steal, cajole, or magic out of nowhere. Happy? I hope so, because you and your minute are so done. Who’s next?”

If I’d been one of my rivals I’d have called time out, and Senator Stupid had gone into a funk, as well he might, but they all had their own fixations and kept on coming, though questions were more sensible. Yes, I was serious about SAGE, and knew my gun crime stats. Parkland had to be answered, and all the avoidable massacres by the brain-fried. Yes, I really did believe climate change a global emergency warranting serious and immediate action even if it cut profits or meant ring-fenced tax hikes. Remember _Koyaanisquatsi_ , that useful Hopi word meaning, among other things, a state of life that calls for another way of living — whang in the gold, those Hopi being a smart bunch, and I thought a lot of people knew that in their bones, whatever their fears and natural dislike of inconvenience. (That got applause, which was pleasing.) Yes, I did go hunting on four legs. It was fun exercise, and hunting is a serious national pastime besides being one thing coyotes do anyway. Get over it, because yes, I also ate what I hunted that way.

_She doesn’t eat things she hunts any other way, Congressman, and if you’d tasted Bonarata you’d know why._

I gave Skuffles a reproving look, and she shrugged, skulls rattling. The congressman retired in confusion, and on we went. Yes, I arranged the problem the Director of the Secret Service had had with ravens, because no-one messed with Jesse, but I’d forgiven him, and had nothing but respect, praise, and thanks for the sterling work his agents had done and were doing. No, doing scent forensics I didn’t conceal anything, and when the Medicine Wolf Accords had come into force the Marrok had warned US vamps that if their scent was detected at a crime scene they would not be concealed from law enforcement. And no, the Marrok couldn’t order me to do anything, he being wolf and me being coyote, ditto Adam.

“Anything to add, love?”

A camera found Adam as he stood, amusement rich in our bond.

“The Congressman should try giving you an order, Mercy. It does not work at all well, believe me, ladies and gentlemen. Any decent husband will know exactly what I mean, and in Mercy’s case multiply by the largest number you can think of.” I sent an indignant _Oy!_ and he grinned. “More seriously, it matters that everyone understands Mercy really cannot be magically coerced, by anyone. She is a sufficiently dominant coyote to be co-Alpha of a werewolf pack, which ought to be impossible, and a lot of magic bounces right off her. Despite the unpleasant opening question she doesn’t enjoy killing anything except to eat, but coyotes are predators, no predator has a problem killing in self-defence, and her tally to date includes the River Devil, Manannán mac Lír, Cantrip, and Bonarata. You don’t mess with any preternatural lightly, but you really don’t mess with Mercy, period. You respect her, and walk a little softly around her. It’s different for me because we are mates, husband and wife till death do us part. But I have seen it grow in others as Mercy’s powers have grown. First People know she pushed the world, and it moved. So do Elder Spirits, Marrok, Gray Lords, now vampires. The earth fae who tend our gardens, oaks that guard us and the Freed against intrusion, even Underhill in her own dimension, recognise a new power, and gravitate towards it in interest and, increasingly, gratitude. Excalibur came to her hand for the asking. _Think_ about that. And one last thing, because werewolves are not as feminist as they should be, and some Alphas thought Mercy must be under my orders, or my pawn. Details are privileged, but I swear on my honour she set them very straight, and no wolf now doubts she is her own Alpha, as well as my co-Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack.”

He sat, and I made a fast decision.

“I’d like to laugh off some of that, because it embarrasses me, but I can’t deny it, however I still find it strange. I was what I was, very junior league, only an avatar, until Guayota. But that left me with a big chunk of his magic, and Manannán the same, which brought the cloak. It’s all taken some getting used to, and Excalibur will take more, but having power thrust into my hands I have tried to use it for the widest good. So far that’s meant ditching Cantrip, the Medicine Wolf Accords, Hansford, nailing ex-Senator Heuter, the Columbia Restoration and Cascadia evacuation, SAGE, sorting the vampire problem, laying foundations for the Ol’ Manitou River Accords to come, and pointing out to as many people as I can that main parties and our two-horse-race system are increasingly badly unfit for purpose. You tell me how I’m doing, in November.”

The audience took that under advisement for two seconds, and decided cacophonous applause was in order. Quite a few stood, then almost everyone, and I looked at Skuffles, who was amused.

_You think I have a better volume slider?_

As everyone heard her, she did, and I gestured them to sit with a smile, but an old man with a younger one beside him remained standing, and raised a hand. I saw the look on his lined face, and pointed with Manannán’s Bane.

“Get that gentleman a mike, please. You have a question, sir?”

A student intern, I guessed, rushed up the aisle as fast as being very careful not to step on wolves allowed. The old man took a mike, and nodded thanks before looking at me.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but I don’t know I’ll ever have another chance, and it’s pressing on me hard after what I’ve seen today.”

“That sounds serious, sir. What would you ask?”

“Twenty years back, ma’am, I was living in Oklahoma City. I married late, and though I was gone fifty we had a little boy, my son here. Then my wife was killed by a drunk driver, God rest her soul, and we coped as best we could. But one day my boy was very late home, and when he did arrive he was off his food, and couldn’t remember what had happened. But he had a bite mark on his arm. Two deep little wounds.” He drew a deep breath. “Well, I thought real hard about that, and about a neighbour of mine I had some worry about, because he was one strange fellow, strong as an ox and never to be seen when the moon was full, but always courteous when we exchanged neighbourly greetings. So that night, when my boy was asleep at last, I went along and knocked. He was surprised, I could see, but listened, came to look, and told me he’d take care of it but there were no guarantees, there’d likely be trouble, and if I had kin elsewhere we should stay with them a while. Well, my wife’s parents were on at us to move to St Louis anyway, so we did, but when I went back to see what was what I was told my neighbour had moved. I asked around, but no-one knew anything, so I made our move permanent, fearing I’d cost a man his life. I haven’t said anything until now, but I think my boy met one of those bad vampires, and my neighbour was a wolf who protected us at some cost to himself, and I’d dearly like to give him the thanks I owe, if I can. Is there any way you could find out, ma’am, because it’s haunted us, and even when wolves came out we didn’t know if I’d been right about vampires?”

I looked at Adam. “Ring any bells, love? Policing action against vamps in Oklahoma City in the late ‘90s?”

“Something’s ringing faintly. Lone wolf, maybe.”

_I could go and ask the Marrok._

I fought laughter. “I imagine he’s watching, Skuffles.” I looked at the old man and his anxious son. “We can surely find out, sir, but it might take some days. If you give Adam names, dates, and contact info, someone will get back to you. You’re probably right. The bite sounds vamp, and if your neighbour was a wolf he’d have taken predation on a minor very seriously, as would the Marrok. Action would have been taken, but what exactly I can’t say without getting records checked.”

The old man frowned. “You said ‘policing action’, ma’am. Have wolves been holding back vampires for us?”

“Bluntly, sir, yes, but it’s complicated. Any individual wolf is vulnerable to vampire attack, but if it gets to seethe against pack, seethe loses. And once wolves were out they would not tolerate vampire behaviour that raised anti-preternatural feeling, because they and the Fae took the blame for vampire wrongs. Net result is wolves moved against vampires when there was cause, but only locally, and that took some doing. Avatars, fae, and half-fae, too. We were all running scared, but weren’t doormats.”

“For God’s sake, he’s a plant.” It was of course Senator Stupid. “Anyone can see it. Convenient stories, and illicit questions from the floor? Are you all completely out of your minds?”

Silence number seven appeared, but Skuffles was losing patience.

_Not as much as you were when Thomas Hao flicked you a glance, nitwit. A deaf male troll could hear the truth in that human’s voice, and the pain and honour. Mercy keeps telling me I shouldn’t bite you but it is sounding more rote by the second. I would hush your mouth, if I were you, though thank God I’m not._

Hello, silence number eight, despite a moderator repeating her aloud, and I reached to scratch her ruff.

“Sound advice, Senator.” I turned back to the old man. “I doubt it will occur to him, sir, so I apologise for his insults. No citizen should be treated with such ignorant disdain by any elected representative. Give Adam the data, and we’ll do what we may, as fast as we may.”

“I can’t ask more, ma’am, and thank you sincerely. Giving thanks where they are surely due will be a weight off my mind. And I’ll thank, ah, Skuffles also.” He hesitated. “This ain’t relevant, but it’s been eating me some. Are you a Deadhead, er, ma’am, with your skulls and roses?”

_Mercy is, so I am too, happily. I’ve had some good talks with Irpa and Purity about what jamming really means, and we all go for Jerry Garcia’s acoustic and bluegrass too. What’s not to like, sir?_

He and his son grinned widely.

“You’re a … I’ll say coyote, though what do I know, after my own heart, ma’am. Thank you. And thank you too, Mrs, ah, Ms Hauptman — forgive me, it don’t come easily at my age — for letting me ask my question. I was minded to vote for you anyway, because you’ve been making a lot of good sense to me, and you’ve a dab hand at slogans and, whatchemecallums, hashtags, you and that firecracker daughter of yours.” He grinned. “Do I want us all dropped right in it? Does sanity work everywhere? Oh yeah. Life hasn’t been so interesting in ever. But I had a thought, watching you and that sorry excuse for a federal senator you’ve been beating up on because he echoes all that white, might, and right poison Heuter spouted, which is that bright, might, and polite sounds a whole lot better to me.”

I didn’t bother stopping my grin. “Talk about casting your bread upon the waters. Nice one, sir, and I’d be glad of permission to quote on posters. I expect Jesse’d like a word too. She’s the real hashtagger in the family. But time ticks by, and we’d better get on. Who’s up next?”

Watching Adam and Jesse head up the aisle to talk to the old man and his son, Adam fielding a call I’d bet was Charles or Bran, I told another two congressmen that yes, I really would go for major reforestation, because I’d rather Jesse’s and everyone’s children didn’t need heat suits to take a walk, and no, I didn’t think hacking vampire bank accounts was ethically dubious, because, d’oh, under Bonarata’s regime they were killing US citizens without need or justification. Then we were on to the first woman, who took the kind of breath I recognised.

“Ms Hauptman, as I’ve listened to you today, talking to Ol’ Manitou River, the President, and St Louis PD, and seen all you’ve done, which has blown my mind, I’ve realised I am going to vote for you. My supporters will be disappointed, but I hope they will understand. I withdraw as a presidential candidate. May I still ask you a question?”

“Yes, of course, and thank you. Ask two.”

“Thank you, Ms Hauptman, I will. First, what on earth _is_ Skuffles? And second, as you have no slate candidate running against me yet, if I resign from my party and stand as an independent, supporting your core policies, can I join your slate? I know some will call it naked opportunism, and worse, but I call it common sense.”

I was losing track of types of silence, but as my snorfling Da said, I did know what to do with spotlights and golden opportunities.

“Brava, ma’am. To your second question, a qualified yes. We need to have a conversation about those core policies, and other things, but if, then surely, and welcome aboard the USS Sanity. First question is more complicated.” I turned. “Maxi-me, what on earth do you think you are?”

 _You made me, Mercy._ Skuffles swung her head to look at the woman. _I was a sending, when Mercy needed to get someone’s attention. But I was among her first magics aided by her cloak, and took a twist in my making. Irpa noticed and created her tattoo version of me. Others became interested and offered gifts of magic to see what I could do with them. It built up, and now I am what I am. Her will is my will, but I have my own. I know it’s not PC, but you could call me a dedicated maxi-me with attitude._

I laughed, and so did the Man, most preternaturals, and Jesse.

“Skuffles, that’s a song. We could ask the Grateful Dead and Triple Troll, though it’s not quite their style, or the Boss’s.”

_Ask Ray Davies._

“Why not? Anyway, does that answer your question, ma’am?”

“Uh … I guess. What’s a sending?”

“Usually just a magic gopher, a detached bit sent on its way to do whatever. I couldn’t do them before I had the cloak, and when I made Skuffles the morning after the night of Wyoming, we were all bruised souls. I had some extreme emotions, and they overflowed. Roses from the Garden of Manannán’s Death, skulls from the mineshaft, and ghosts all over who truly were grateful dead. Go figure. Skuffles has been having to lie very low, out of sight and vampire mind, because she was a hole card against Bonarata, as it turned out a critical one, but now that’s all done you’ll be seeing her much more often.”

The congresswoman set a trend, the most junior man and second woman also announcing withdrawal and asking what further sorts of human–preternatural collaboration I thought possible.

“The point is to understand parameters of technologies and magics. Great manitous don’t have many limits other than geographical but water still flows downhill. Underhill doesn’t do electricity. Most vamps can only daywalk metaphorically. And if we want someone to expend time, strength, and magic, there has to be a _quid pro quo_. So think about things that benefit everybody, each kind alone and all kinds together. It’s about common good, not personal advantage. Climate change affects everyone. So do crime and natural disasters. National security can command consensus, but it’s trickier because the Fae are independent and our security concerns not the same as Underhill’s. Vampires were troubling all. More specific local co-operation is possible, as with Celilo Falls, but that’s within the Columbia Restoration, which was mandated in the Medicine Wolf Accords. And all of that is reason to vote for other preternaturals on my slate. If Jeremiah Stourbridge wins in Kentucky he’ll have an obligation to think hard about how whatever might benefit Kentuckians. If Irpa and Vanna win in San Francisco and New York, what might two port-city trolls bring to bear on bridge management? The Medicine Wolf Accords provide a platform we’re exploring to discover what we might jointly be able to build on it.”

“Yes, I see. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” I looked along the line of punch-drunk rivals then at the moderators. “That’s actually one complete round of questions. And then there were nine.” I glanced at Senator Stupid. “Or eight, as we have a new definition of walking dead. Does anyone want round two?”

After a beat there was laughter, and the moderators fought grins.

“Perhaps not, Ms Hauptman, and we are well over our scheduled time of closure, though I doubt anyone minds. But if other candidates are done asking questions, perhaps you might take some from the audience?”

“By all means, sir.”

The intern with the cordless mike was joined by others, and tempo changed with the nature of questions and marginalisation of my rivals. I canvassed campus main-party chapters, finding open disappointment with national behaviour, and eager willingness to volunteer without being sure how to do so that I addressed. Quite a few had heard Frank lecture, so Others 101 and the desirability of having people who understood the preternatural within federal and state agencies came up, as did SAGE and post-Parkland, what telling First People’s history properly would mean, and lots of Ol’ Manitou River and vampires. Surprise. A St Louis U. contingent made for theological questions on ghosts in general and within Bonarata that didn’t have answers, but I tried to be clear about what I knew, and what just made sense from my perspective. I drew on what I’d said to Reverend Jenkins about not sacramentalising magic because it was magic, and the need to understand variable values of _impossible_ and _miraculous_ without getting mystical. And inevitably someone asked to see Excalibur.

“Sorry, sir, but no. You do not draw this blade without good reason, and simple curiosity, however understandable, isn’t enough.”

It was also true my arms still ached.

“Oh. OK. But that’s really Excalibur? Like in the books?”

“It is. I already bore Carnwennan and they belong together, forged by the same hand, and as lore has it, wielded by the same hand also.”

“Cool. You called it to you?”

“I asked and it agreed to come, sir. Weeks ago, thinking about Bonarata’s immunities, it occurred to me having a seriously magical sword might be a really good idea, so I went to see Excalibur and asked it if it would mind. I never was a Girl Scout, but being prepared is common sense.”

There was yet another of those silences.

“You knew where it was?”

“Turned up in Seattle a while back, and I’ve been keeping track.”

“Seattle? And you _asked it if it would mind_ helping you?”

“You don’t make assumptions about magical swords, sir, and courtesy is usually good, don’t you think?” I laid a hand on the hilt, feeling it warm. “Excalibur does.”

“Uh … right. On the film you said something when you … um, used it?”

“When I slew Bonarata? I asked it, in Old Welsh, if it would of its grace now slay me this dead yet living thing.”

“Cool. You speak Old Welsh?”

“Gwyn ap Lugh does, and I asked him to translate. He’s a great deal more reliable than Google, not only when it comes to languages.”

The laughter let me move on, or back, to what Ol’ Manitou River might want, and how it would be paid for.

“A whole lot of talking has to happen before anyone has answers, ma’am, and none of it simple. But we’ve found in the Columbia Basin that with governors involved from the get-go and practical attitude, fair and acceptable ways to get things done can be worked out. I’d think the basic model would be local finance with state or federal intervention when someone is facing a … let’s say manitou-specific bill they can’t hope to pay, though there’ll be questions about why that is. I mean what I say about not leaving anyone in the green lurch if we can help it, but we are going into that lurch as fast as we can. Today I had time on my side, by Underhill’s grace, but with climate change we are all racing against it.”

That went down well, but a serious-looking student asked why Jesse had been with me when I knew I was walking into danger.

“That’s bordering on the intrusive, ma’am, but one short answer is that she’s an adult and makes her own decisions, and another is that if she’d been anywhere else she would have been less well protected.”

“But she was firing at Bonarata. That can’t be right at her age.”

“Over the border into intrusive, ma’am.” But Jesse stood, Adam beside her. “Sure, Jesse? You do _not_ have to answer.”

An intern reached her, and she took the mike.

“It’s alright, Mom. Other people are asking on social media, so I’d as soon get it done.” She turned to the student. “The practicalities were simple. I could be of most help by being here today. I wouldn’t be a distracting worry as an alternative possible target, and as I’ve trained with the Glock I can be relied on to shoot straight. The bullets didn’t harm Bonarata, but they distracted him for Skuffles, so I did my bit and I’m proud to have done so. I’m glad I don’t have the burden of having taken a life, but also … I dunno, relieved, maybe, to know that if I ever have to pull the trigger, aiming to kill, I can. No trigger freeze. It’s nothing I want to do, but I’m as clear as Mercy that if you’re trying to kill me or mine I’m going to stop you any which way I can. I’ve argued this with post-Parklanders, because I go with SAGE. Yeah, we have way too many guns, but it’s about what sort of guns. We’re never going to ban them like the Brits, however we need to control them way better than we do, so people at specific risk — which I am because Dad’s dad, Mom’s mom, and the world seems to have an endless supply of fruitcake haters as well as good sane people — are entitled to carry provided they have licenses, which I do, thanks to the CIA. I hope the number of heavily armed people around me will ease now Bonarata’s dust, but I’m gonna be carrying my Glock for a while. No, it’s not objectively good, but it’s the best we can do just now.”

“Thou shalt not kill!”

“Too right, but being killed really sucks too, and Mom’s dealt with that one. Are you a fruitarian?”

“What? No.”

“Then you eat dead things. How do you think they got that way? The principle’s rock solid, but what we apply it to varies, and the law recognises justifiable homicide for reasons everyone gets just fine and have no age limits. Pray you never face a real threat, and get over it already. Ma’am.”

Jesse was wise enough to hand the mike back, sitting with Adam’s hand on her shoulder. The student was open-mouthed, but I didn’t have any sympathy even if Jesse’s neat filleting had had some temper in it.

“No follow-ups, ma’am. We’ve all had a very long day, most of it on global TV. Who’s next?”

A moderator intervened. “Actually, Ms Hauptman, I believe we need to wrap. It’s nearly midnight here and the East Coast needs to go to bed.”

“Fine by me, ma’am. Chancellor, thank you for your help in arranging this event. And thank you all for listening.”

The Chancellor collected a mike and stepped up to the daïs.

“You promised to campaign differently, Ms Hauptman, and you are a woman of your word.” Amid relieving laughter he looked up to the screen, then turned to face cameras. “Mr President, my fellow Americans, and all who watch, has there ever been a day of such astonishment? We were anticipating Ol’ Manitou River and a debate, and got both. We also got a series of revelations — vampires among us, three assassination attempts on Ms Hauptman in twelve days, national and international alliance, that extraordinary Italian hoard, the worst imaginable crimes and evils, and their amazing ending. We met Mr Hao, and saw Excalibur summoned out of legend … or perhaps only from Seattle, which is food for thought.” Then he showed why listening to Andrea is smart, and I gave thanks I had a statement ready to release. “And yet what I find pulsing in my poor bruised mind is the valour we have seen. Would anyone have thought any Hauptman, as they greeted Ol’ Manitou River and oversaw introductions, were awaiting heinous magical assault? Such grace under fire is an astonishment, and however we all have much yet to understand it is clear we should be deeply grateful. So I will end by adding my thanks, personally and as Chancellor of Washington University in St Louis, to the President’s. Thank you, Ms Hauptman, and all with you, for your incredible valour today on all our behalves.”

Applause is a kind of release, everyone had pent-up feelings, and he’d let them off the leash. I smiled and nodded, but they weren’t stopping, I was tired, and there was still the police statement, so I shook hands with the Chancellor and moderators, and offered one to rivals. Senator Stupid just glared but others shook, and I wondered how getting out of here was going to work, and where I needed to go anyway. Continuing applause meant the audience were still in their places, so with Chancellor in tow Skuffles and I collected Adam and Jesse, and everyone else fell in behind as we headed up the aisle Freed vacated ahead of us. Even better, it turned out St Louis PD had sent the Captain uptown with a team of statement-takers, and WashU had opened a classroom, so we were able to get to it straight away.

Frank, Rachel, Jeremiah, and Ros were with us, needing reassurance I was OK before giving highlights of Frank’s lecture, which he’d aced. I let Adam hold me, sipping water and glad to be silent after way too much talking. The PD were sensibly restricting it to what anyone had seen and done in those slow seconds, and no-one was into digressions. Jesse said she’d felt slow time envelop her, seen translocations, and followed orders, firing at Bonarata three times. Then she’d watched Bonarata’s body parts but hadn’t seen magic or ghosts, only the head zooming about until it became a dustbunny. Later she’d cleaned salt off Skuffles’s teeth. We clarified that salt got rid of most magical residues, and I gave the Captain points when he asked Skuffles for a statement.

_I was waiting and knew what Mercy wanted, so as soon as Bonarata stumbled I took him. I used my wooden teeth, and I’ll swear I got his heart, but knew it hadn’t dismissed him. Irpa had a better idea, so I flipped his head up. After that it was hanging on until Mercy and Excalibur did their stuff and he turned into a mouthful that beggars description though I’ve been wondering how to describe it ever since. Any questions?_

“Um … wooden teeth?”

She showed him. _I have several kinds, depending on what I need to bite. They didn’t work today, but would on any other vampire._

“Ah. Right. And, er, those skulls you wear …”

 _Are glamour._ They all became roses for a moment. _I do see dead people, Captain, because Mercy does. I don’t wear them._

“No, of course not. Well, thank you, ah, Ms Skuffles.”

I grinned, but it was my turn. “I felt vampire magic begin, and pulled on Underhill’s slow time though the cloak. Overdid it, but smoothed it out and extended. Took stock, realised sleeping vamps were being sacrificed, felt gutsick rage, and matched guards to daywalkers. Put Adam and Jesse on Bonarata, shot Lenka Yakovlevna twice, saw her die, and asked Jill to go bear to check her momentum. Switched to Bonarata, also two shots, body, to knock him back. Saw Skuffles take him and Irpa’s move, but could see the bond of rejoining and felt its magical makeup, which was as ugly as sin.” I drank water. “Can’t prove a word of it, Captain, but there was Undeadness, and a ghastly mess of black witchcraft mixed with fae magic She of Livorno stole from her mother, and a felted braid of ghosts, hundreds of them. Called Excalibur through the incomplete triad in the Garden of Manannán’s Death, used magic to separate the ghosts, and cut both links. Banished liberated ghosts onwards, and saw Bonarata unravel. His last word was ‘No’, I think, but he didn’t have a larynx by then. What’s that line? _Crying to the end, ‘I have not finished’_. But he was finished, and the other vampires and Lenka, so I let slow time go and went to help poor Skuffles. I was getting enough sympathetic echo to know how bad a state she was in, but Ol’ Manitou River made it easy to nix the witchcraft residue. Then I had to eat because I’d burned about a million calories.”

“You did all that in two seconds?”

“We were running about 20:1, so most of a minute. Felt like forever.”

“God above. What was that thing in the garden you mentioned?”

“Not human business, Captain. The Garden of Manannán’s Death is Underhill, and some of the magic happened there.”

“Fair enough, Ms Hauptman. It’s just you were standing right under the Arch when you did all this, and there’s usually a ton of tourists there. Are there any, um, magical consequences we need to know about?”

“Huh. Good question. There’s nothing I know of that poses any danger to anyone, though there’s an unhappy ghost about, but when I passed under the Arch I realised it attracts a lot of ambient magic. It’s the form and scale, the wonder of it. So it might have picked up more. Ask Ol’ Manitou River, or a good white witch. And when we were deep-sixing Bonarata I had a thought about the Arch as a fitting headstone, nameless and indifferent, and Hao had the same thought. Vampire … pilgrimages, I suppose, in their inverted way, are not beyond the bounds of possibility, so the NPS might want to think about night opening hours.”

“Might, yeah. I think there’ll be more pilgrims than that, Ms Hauptman. Ghosts are harmless? Huh. But no more … active magic?”

“Depends, Captain. If the Arch becomes a serious focus, ask again. But I’m not aware of anything the PD needs to worry about. We were careful cleaning up dust, which has no active magic but you don’t want to breathe it. FBI analysed di Ragusa’s and it was ordinary grave mould. Bonarata was different because of all the black witchcraft.”

“OK. Do you mind if we summarise that for the public?”

“Not at all. Check with the FBI, but you have my permission to release the whole statement. I’m not telling you anything I wouldn’t tell everyone, now. Many secrets ended today, however plenty remain and always will.”

“Oh yeah. But thank you, Ms Hauptman. I’ve spoken with the brass and DA, and we’re all signed off on this now. We just needed to be clear because we do have a body. You really want to bury Ms Yakovlevna?”

“Un huh, but I don’t know where. I’ll need to make enquiries to see if any of her pack are alive, and she had plenty of victims down the centuries though who knows what any descendants know? But she was a victim too, and I hope she’s been received with mercy, so I’ll see to some rites.”

He looked at me carefully. “You’re really something else, Ms Hauptman, and if you’re not our next president I’ll be very surprised. Good luck with that. Now, what do you need to get out of here?”

“Thank you, Captain, and enough room for everyone coming with me to get a hand on the cloak. You saw us arrive.”

In the end that meant the parking lot, but with the time pushing 2 a.m. Central we made it out to the Garden. There was still a crowd of fae sightseeing, and as Brent, Jill, and Jesse had been talking there was a delay for massed duckpond inspection. I gave up, and sat on a bench with Adam, asking the cloak if a five-minute nap might have a higher sleep value. Lying down wasn’t possible with the Glock on one hip and Excalibur and Carnwennan on the other, but I could stretch out my legs, leaning my head on Adam’s shoulder, and went to sleep faster than I can remember.


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

I know that after you’ve saved the world you have to get up next day and do it again, but I had a lie-in all the same. I wasn’t sure how many hours Adam and I sneaked in the Garden before Irpa had taken Jeremiah and Ros home and let us get back to Kennewick, but we added four or five in realtime, made love, and did some more dozing. But hunger was suggesting breakfast, and a few minutes later Skuffles showed up.

_Come on, sleepyheads. The Man’s on his way to meet Ol’ Manitou River, and there’s lots of news._

I’d bet there was, and a shower sounded good, so Adam and I shared one. We had plenty of emotional hangover, and I’d lost several pounds I didn’t need to lose, but that was a good excuse for stuffing my face, and we were both so happy with relief nothing else mattered.

“Ding, dong, the witch is dead, Excalibur chopped off his head”, I told Adam cheerfully as we dressed. “Um, more sombre colours for today, though. The dark green, maybe?”

“You’re asking me for dress advice? But ding, dong, you bet it did, bless its heart.” We looked at Excalibur in Ceulydd, propped beside Manannán’s Bane against the dresser on which Carnwennan and my Glock rested with Zee’s dagger and Thunderbird’s feather. “You need new belt-loops, whatever Zee says.”

“Yeah.” I narrowed my eyes. “But I _wasn’t_ feeling the weight, Adam. Some of the magic Zee forged in is … antigrav, somehow. Not tiring its wielder in battle, maybe. I was feeling impact shock but that’s eased with sleep. No bruising — just jarred.”

“Huh. You’ll need to experiment. Where can we put a salle? Or is it called something else for broadswords?”

“Oh hush.”

He grinned. “It’s going to make for interesting press conferences, love, if you campaign with Excalibur on your belt. You’ll get requests to see it, whatever you say.”

“Maybe, but I drew a line and I’ll hold it. Weapons aren’t toys. I’ll ask it on Marine Joe’s behalf, though. He respects blades.”

“Fair enough. And maybe it’s sufficiently fae to like being admired.”

“Depends who’s doing the admiring.”

“True. Any headline predictions before we go find out?”

“No. The dark green it is.”

It was a flowing dress, loose bodice above a flared skirt in earthy olive, and could swirl nicely but wouldn’t be incongruous with what I’d need to say. It would also set off Carnwennan’s and Excalibur’s hilts, with the embroidery on Ceulydd. I held that thought, wondering if I’d actually cracked colour co-ordination via accessories. Then I laughed, and made Adam laugh by telling him. Saving Manannán’s Bane, which I liked twirling, the weapons could stay put for now, as I told them, explaining what we’d be doing later, and we headed down, Skuffles joining us on the stairs.

 _The Man’s car is ten minutes out from the Arch. Coyote has gone to make introductions, grumbling about being a doorbell, but is in a good mood. As is everyone. We lifted a weight from the world yesterday, so it should be quite pushable today._ I gave her a look. _Well it should. And maybe it likes being pushed successfully? We should think about that._

“If you say so, Ms Skuffles.”

_Oh hush._

She padded towards the kitchen, and Adam gave me a grin.

“Having two of you around is going to be fun.”

“You hush as well” I told him, and walked into a madhouse. Everyone resident plus several pack were surfing amid breakfast debris, the TV showed Coyote working crowds at Gateway Park with Missouri, and Darryl was producing Spanish omelettes. Jesse bounced up with a smile and gave us both hugs.

“Hi, awesome parents. We aced it. Everyone says so.”

“Bet your boots, Jesse. It’s still too loud in here to hear myself think.” Adam’s raised voice dialled volume down. “Better, thank you. Darryl, what do Mercy and I need to know?”

“Jesse covered it, Adam. Even the East Coast press had time to write leaders and op-eds at a flying scramble, and it’s all good that anyone’s seen. Prior preternatural silence is registered, but Bonarata and Hao took care of why we’d do that. The Gray Lords issued a statement confirming everything Mercy said about She of Livorno and Bonarata, welcoming his dismissal as a great deed, and celebrating Excalibur’s decision to aid Mercy. Bottom line, Mercy wiped the floor with everyone. Best headline I’ve seen is the _Houston Chronicle_ — HAUPTMAN ENDS VAMPIRE AND DEBATE — and though TV’s more on Ol’ Manitou River, that’s what everyone’s saying. Bookmakers have you 10–1 on to win, Mercy, or better.”

He went back to omelettes, and I shuddered, making Jesse grin.

“Awesome where its due, Mom.”

“Back atcha, Jesse. You’re good? You had some snap answering that pious pacifist last night.”

“Yeah. She flicked me on the raw a bit. Firing to kill is …”

“As it should be. Talk to Adam, then anyone here. We’ve all been there. Did Andrea release my statement about predators coping with tension?”

“Un huh. Jill was tracking that.”

“Andrea was right about people being freaked by realising what you’ve been carrying, Mercy, but what you said is playing well and has been overtaken by a statement from an exasperated Ramona. There were media when the Freed got home, and some Anglo jerk shouted it all had to be a put-up job. Ramona said if he really thought that he was a prime candidate for a Darwin Award, adding there was exactly one being she rated above herself on the Mohs scale and you were it. Went viral fast.” Jill grinned. “So there are lots of people explaining the Mohs scale and general consensus that if you’re diamond, all of us get Corundum ratings.”

I supposed that was good, but Darryl called omelette, and Adam and I split it greedily while catching up. There were vamp and human casualties in more than one nation, European, Asian, and South American, but more sensible if shocky vamps seemed to be co-operating. The Italian government had released a statement saying it had known the villa was Bonarata’s and had been liaising with wolves who’d provided data on vamp smuggling, while elegantly regretting he’d been Italian, which grabbed some headlines. So did Russia and China being politely grateful for US briefings and glad of Underhill’s assistance with wooden rounds, although how many seethes there might be in their territories was unclear. There were more Mercy the Vampire-Slayer puns than I could count, despite my warning, but I had to concede the _CSM_ ’s MERCY THE VAMPIRES’ PRAYER had some sideways. And the _NYT_ had again done something right. After the day that saw Coyote blow the gaff on how the River Devil was killed, with a bunch of other big things to cover, they’d said in a front-page leader that they imagined they felt pretty much like it had after eating seven Elder Spirits, and repeated the line. Their coverage was divided into sections on Ol’ Manitou River, a timeline, vampires, events at Gateway Park, the debate, and a multi-author op-ed, and they’d done well — the timeline got all they knew right, the fight was diagrammed, and sections thoughtful. Vamps’ abilities, especially mind control, were a nightmare, but they agreed Senator Stupid had committed political suicide in Gateway Park, and with my help and Hao’s done it again during the evening, his epitaph ‘very slow and very weak’ ; and didn’t think the Congresswoman who’d jumped ship had done herself any harm. Substantive points I’d made were well-taken, and Adam’s and Jesse’s contributions assessed. I was skimming the op-ed when the Man de-limo’d with Sawyer, Coyote made another _How, Chief Paleface_ joke, and found it neatly capped.

“How, not-exactly father of She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, and how.”

Coyote beamed. “You’re learning. Yesterday was special, wasn’t it? If only all my children knew what to do with so much spotlight.”

“Forgive me for being glad Ms Hauptman’s unique, but yeah, you bet. Have you tried Ol’ Manitou River on the Grateful Dead?”

It went cheerfully on from there, and I meditatively chewed omelette as we watched Coyote do his dance and howl, and after the stop-rolling-along-for-a-second show greet Ol’ Manitou River and tell it a new doorbell-protocol was needed. Then they settled, a male voice repeating mindvoice statements. Time was time and budgets budgets, but there was now a federal Department of the Mississippi Basin, tasked with organising and implementing decisions of the WashU conferences, to be held in the first weeks of June. Who should be Secretary was under review, but the number two would be, _ex officio_ , the Corps of Engineers’ Deputy Commanding General for Civil and Emergency Ops, and real money was available, if over years rather than months. He joined the fray. Nitrate fertilisers were trickier, but pressed hard the Man conceded a progressive ban, in return for experiments with silt control and distribution on every tributary and the main stems, meaning individual field inundation, plus magmatic baking of levees to resist erosion and collapse. The Yellowstone magma chamber came up, and Ol’ Manitou River spoke about risk parameters but promised to try draining it during the Cascadia ’quake, meaning wide, gently sloping tunnels that would let magma flow anything up to fifty miles before it reached the mantle. River safety, dam removals, increased river freight, and thalweg problems were canvassed. Then they ploughed into racial issues, swiftly agreed they were a toxic mess, and reviewed the framework I’d provided with representatives and governors before deciding there should be a section of the Department tasked with ethnic history, memorialisation, and problem-solving. Coyote shifted to buffalo migration, and after some recalibrating, hauled out his phone. Mine howled at me.

“We’ve been watching, well-dressed Da. What is it?”

<Question for Manannán’s Bane, devastating daughter. Once upon a time, it did healthy twin lambs. How does it feel about healthy twin bison?>

“Pass, but hang on and I’ll ask.” I laid it across my lap and did, which was not easy. “It’s not sure, given bison calves are pretty much always single, but willing to try.”

<Good. Let’s make that happen sooner than later. Any chance of slow time for calves?>

“No. Forced early breeding is so not on anyone’s agenda, even Bison’s.”

<Point, but ask Manannán’s Bane about healthy triplets, then. We need numbers. Gotta go.>

He rang off, and I stared at the screen where he was saying breeding numbers would be boosted.

“Mixing magics has gone to his head. I’m all for bison, but no way am I asking ap Lugh if we can pasture them Underhill in slow time.”

“With you on that, Mercy.” Darryl gave me a welcome hot chocolate. “Though I gather you had some righteous things to say to him yesterday.”

“It was one of Ben’s score draws, Darryl. And I have a nasty feeling my providing an opportunity to do some house-cleaning was on ap Lugh’s agenda from the start, as much as on Wulfe’s.”

“Huh. Still, you posted another warning as big as that arch. Have to say I thought you were over-definite about so open an attack, but he really did go for flashy symbolism and you nailed him, so it’s yours.”

“Plus Excalibur.” Brent gave a seated bow. “I thought you were out-left-fielding yourself when you went to talk to it, but what do I know? And I still don’t understand what it has to do with the duckpond.”

“Me either.” Jill shrugged. “But it’s a nice duckpond, however weird.”

“Just file under synergy. Excalibur wanted a … pied-à-terre, I suppose, or au-dessous-de-terre, anyway, with proper locks. I wanted to duckpond Manannán’s memory, because that’s the triad’s theme and I think it’s … justly funny. What Underhill really wanted I have no idea, but she was happy with what she got. And what mattered was the magical potential in the incomplete triad because Excalibur used it to get to St Louis, which took a _lot_ more power than I had to spare just then.”

There was a ruminative pause before Jill sighed.

“Coyotes. You always make it sound perfectly reasonable when it plainly isn’t anything of the sort. But there’s no arguing with results. Even Momma was bowled over by your style, and sends congratulations.”

“Oh. Well, do thank her for me. And you realise you must now hold the avatar record for speed in changing?”

“Un huh. My fat reserves told me all about that. You burned some too.”

“Several pounds, and yeah, I felt them go. Hang on.”

It looked as if the Man and Ol’ Manitou River were done. Handshaking wasn’t practical but they went palm-to-palm, smiling, the Man and Sawyer departed, and Coyote discussed doorbell-alternatives before he vanished. Ol’ Manitou River looked pleased, and went to do more meet-and-greet with Missouri. My phone started ringing, and I fielded calls from my Mom, who didn’t know what to say but needed to hear I was OK, then a shocked if relieved Jenny, checking on what I’d been told by the St Louis PD before passing the phone to an effervescent Andrea, who said I redefined awesome and shifted smartly to logistics. Everything was sorted with catering and security, the musicians had arrived, and would be playing from about 3. They were as wowed as she was, and presently doing an acoustic backstage jam of ‘Dedicated Maxi-me with Attitude’, but only had the chorus. WashU had posted a video of Frank’s lecture, and hunt photos showing Skuffles, Grizzly Jill, and magmatic Joel had been released, but Mary and Maya had told about a million callers I wasn’t doing interviews before tomorrow at the earliest.

“Tell them to submit questions in writing, twenty-five words max, and I’ll try to answer any sensible ones. I might use really stupid ones as examples of media inanity.”

<Ooh. Will do.>

“And thanks for your wisdom about how people would react, Andrea. Making me have that statement ready was way smart.”

<Un huh. Though Ramona’s Mohs scale has worked better. You are just very tough indeed, however you got that way.> There was affection in her voice. <I know you don’t quite get us not getting it, Mercy, but that’s because you redefine awesome. It’s so much fun and completely terrifying. I can’t wait to meet Excalibur, if I may. Dad too. He and Mom are still laughing about Mr Hao playing Toss the Senator, though the instant hypnosis was a nightmare. Are they all that quick at it?>

“No. Hao’s very strong. And as you said ‘meet’ not see, I’ll ask Excalibur, but I don’t yet know how it feels about being shown off. Legal opinion about Senator Stupid trying to sue Hao?”

<He has grounds, and is stupid enough to try, but he’d have to pack the jury to get more than a token award. Polling says his behaviour at the Park, attempt to call you a liar, and disbelief of that old man all get a near-unanimous thumbs-down, regardless of age or affiliation. No physical injury, and reputational damage squarely his own responsibility. There will be sympathy about hypnosis but as being guinea-pig was the only service he did anyone all day even that’s tempered. The Borrowed Warchest is safe, but we should release the list of trustees.>

“Go ahead. They knew that would happen.”

<Right. And I meant to ask about the old man. There’ll be questions about him.>

“Bran knew who the wolf was, and he’s been contacted. It’s complicated because the wolf’s a loner who does not want publicity, but a meeting will be set up. What the man and his son say after that is up to them, except no names, which he respected anyway. And do please call him about bright, might, and polite. Adam’s got his number.”

Adam slid me his phone, I relayed details, and Andrea rang off, letting another call through, and the room went quiet at the ringtone.

“Mr President, sir. How are you today?”

<Very happy, Ms Hauptman, and back in the air heading for Pasco. Your cloak beats Air Force One all hands down on carbon footprint, but the USAF provides superior telecommunications. Officially I’m calling to tell you I’m giving a bunch of governors a ride, with about half your representatives. My Army Engineers had to go back to DC but would like a long conversation with you soon. And as they’ve added ‘redoubtable warrior’ to ‘actually gets the problem with levees’ and ‘keeps us in the loop’, I warn you they may genuflect when they next see you.>

“Well, that’ll be embarrassing, but perhaps it’s a good time to confess I allowed the Freed’s earth fae to create a dwelling on a nameless island in the Yakima Delta that technically belongs to the Corps of Engineers. Medicine Wolf created an access tunnel, and I don’t see it needs anyone’s permission to reconfigure itself, but saying ‘no human camping’ doesn’t cover fae dwelling is a bit lawyerly. I figured if I had to I could apply to their C.-in-C. for retroactive permission.”

The Man hooted laughter. <Yeah, you could do that, and I’ll enjoy telling them. Created an access tunnel? How long?>

“Two and some miles, sir. We’d been talking tunnels anyway, with Celilo Falls.”

<I imagine you had. What do I care? and today I’d forgive you a lot more than a tunnel for some earth fae, even if it was any of my business. I’m guessing you’re pretty antsy with the outpourings of praise, so I won’t add to them where valour’s concerned. But politics, now.> He laughed again. <An early debate with a still underage independent producing three formal dropouts, a political suicide, and eight clean KOs while the audience took over questioning? I had such a hard time keeping a straight face, despite the gravity. Which reminds me.> His voice sobered. <Death don’t have no mercy in your land. I’m still parsing that. Your abbreviated name sometimes packs a hell of a punch, but you denied it was a mercy killing. Anything you can tell me?>

I thought about it amid the silence.

“You saw Lenka, and know the facts. It’s not quite what Gary Davis meant, nor Pigpen when he sang it, but it fits. Bonarata couldn’t Turn her — there’s no known wolf vamp, ever, thank God — but wolf healing meant she survived abuse that would have killed a human, over and over. To be undying can be a crucifixion. _Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?_ Forgive me, but did you kill in Vietnam?”

<I did, in urgent fear of my life.>

“Righteously, then, however we shouldn’t have been there. I’ve had to kill before, and it always hurts, as it should. But I am mostly at ease about yesterday. No-one who died could have been saved, except the sleeping vamps, and that’s sick but not on me, or anyone except Bonarata and other dust.” I shrugged. “More prosaically, having a sometime Alpha’s mate as Sauron’s toy stuck in every wolf’s craw like rancid meat, and I get that second-hand on top of my own revulsion and pity. Bran’s never said so but he knew her, I think, while she was her own. A few other wolves I know too, maybe. And it still hurts. Bonarata is not near my conscience, but Lenka will always haunt me. Have you seen my statement to St Louis PD?”

<I have.>

“I’d appreciate whatever consular help can be offered in tracing her pack or victims’ kin. Bran will have some data but with all the upheavals going on some US diplomatic muscle would be welcome.”

<You got it, Ms Hauptman. Two ticks.> I heard him give crisp instructions to someone, and Adam squeezed my hand. <So basically, you were the mercy she needed, because undeath has no mercy?>

“That covers it, sorta.”

<Sorta? I don’t ask idly, Ms Hauptman.>

I glared at the phone, but I didn’t think he did. “You’re forgetting the grateful dead, no capitals. That’s why I’m insisting on burying a body that would otherwise get a pauper’s careless grave. Lenka’s ghost was there when I closed her eyes and looked as mad as she was. It won’t harm anyone, but death can be a notably incomplete mercy in any land, sir. Be glad vamps don’t have ghosts. They give those up with their first death.”

<Holy God, Ms Hauptman, you just keep making metaphors very uncomfortably real. Is the ghost suffering?>

It was exactly the right question, and made me like him the more.

“Not as such, sir. And it’ll fade. I hope. There’s no manual for this stuff, and unless someone who sees ghosts and magic was around when She of Livorno was dismissed no-one’s ever seen anything resembling what I saw yesterday. But around a null things can always get weird.”

<Right. But, no offence, you’ve said magic works oddly around you too.>

“It does, but I’m a magic user. Coyote-ness makes things go sideways. Bonarata was … odd. Surprise, but I’ve always wondered what Wulfe was about Turning him, and I’d now bet the nullness was wanted against She of Livorno. But who knows what bat-crazy magical crap Wulfe might have built in there? Maybe he meant Bonarata as a receptacle for stolen powers, to sort out what he could use, but Bonarata grabbed them and broke their Turning bond. Either way, he _had_ more magic in him than anyone should, but didn’t _use_ it.”

<You think he was a Frankenstein’s creature?>

“Something like that, but Wulfe would have known what he was doing, though I’ve never thought him sane. Anyway, sir, what’s the not idly bit?”

<St Louis U. want to hold an interfaith service of something at Gateway Park. Missouri likes it, but asked if there was a federal view.>

“Something?”

< Remembrance, Thanksgiving, Exorcism, maybe. You rang their bells with those braided ghosts in their secondary hell, and Lenka Yakovlevna in hers. They want to do something, and services are what priests do.>

“Huh. A simple blessing, then. But be very wary of symbolism. If the Arch is Bonarata’s tombstone it’s pointedly blank, and they _really_ shouldn’t try to inscribe it.”

< I get that. But I think a _lot_ of people will go. Including you?>

“Ask me when we know what they’re actually going to do, sir. I won’t play at contrition.”

< Rightly. But you have put more than vampires among the theologians.>

“Un huh. Haven’t read the _CSM_ , but I saw the headline and Ostek’s organising an interfaith interview with Ol’ Manitou River so they can have at it there, and meantime they’re taking my word for everything else, so they can accept the only soul involved was Lenka’s and her ghost isn’t it.”

<Maybe. Anything you can say about what ghosts are?>

“Opinions differ, but to me repeaters are an imprint on the world, or spirit world probably, that shows through. Those who died badly are more like an emotional pattern reflecting whatever didn’t want its soul to go on. Go figure. Dualism really doesn’t work.”

<You have that right, Ms Hauptman, but you still have a bunch of distressed theologians. I’ll talk to Missouri. You also have a bunch of national leaders wanting any time you can spare. They have been told we’ve passed on all the data we have, and the Marrok and Gray Lords facilitated contacts with local wolves and half-fae who might know more, but without avatars to see unhappy ghosts there is no effective search mechanism, and they all really, really want one.>

“Tough. Avatars only see what’s in range, and Eurasia is large. If they can find a great manitou it _might_ be willing, given the situation, to locate seethes. Otherwise they need to put together a deal for vampires that makes outing themselves the desirable path of least resistance.”

< I told them, but I’d be a happier camper if you would too. Conference call tonight or early tomorrow on that fancy system of your husband’s?>

I looked at Adam, who shrugged.

“I suppose, Mr President. But I’ll need to play this evening by ear, so tomorrow’s a better idea. Do they all speak English?”

<Pretty much, but they’ll have translators.>

“Right. What’s the Chinese for _No, Mr Chairman, magic really doesn’t work like that?”_

<His English is OK. Alright, Ms Hauptman. See you mid-afternoon, unless there’s anything urgent at your end now?>

“Not that I’m aware of, sir, but I haven’t spoken to the AED today.”

<I have. Everything is more-or-less under control, dawn having hushed vamps who weren’t too shocky to talk anyway. Westfield says those he’s seen are truly stunned, and believed Bonarata invulnerable. Some donors in military hospitals, some injuries, but no further deaths or dismissals.>

“Good to know, sir. Bonarata had denser ties with the Eastern Seaboard, so they probably felt it more there.”

<They felt it everywhere, Ms Hauptman. But yeah, western seethes are generally being more co-operative, because they were more afraid of you before yesterday. You seem to have been very modest about the ones you called Gauntlet Boy and Blackwood. Oh, and Westfield had a tale about Marsilia being exiled to Washington well before it had statehood?>

“That’s my understanding, sir. She fed from Lenka to rile him, and succeeded. Yakama records are clear on their arrival but the rest’s vamp hearsay. I’ve wondered if she’ll stay now she needn’t, but I suspect it’s Wulfe’s decision and God only knows what that relationship is about.”

< Interesting. An incestuous vamp love-hate triangle. Even de Sade never got that far. And I’ve got another call.>

He rang off and I looked around a silent table.

“He’s not wrong, but eeuw. That’s a novel I _really_ don’t want to read.”

Nor did anyone, but wolves had as much ambivalence as I did about a service at Gateway Park. Figuring I’d cross that bridge when I came to it I went back to op-eds, finding them less embarrassing than expected, so maybe I was getting inured. The first had clearly been polished during the day, a political appreciation of framing Ol’ Manitou River using geographical and ethnic patterns as well as the grid of states, and the traps I’d sprung on National Committees and rivals. The writer saw that if I wasn’t asking great manitous for endorsements, I was getting them anyway by using the new emergence to reveal the incapacity of the two-party system to respond adequately, and agreed with the Man about refuting the barking bigotry show with deeds. Others had equally clearly been written at speed, and each took one strand — brokering alliance, strategy, the European end, She of Livorno and Bonarata, magical weaponry and Excalibur, and whacking senators. The last was by the editor, who said flatly proper analysis was impossible in the time available but was clear I’d changed the rules on everyone.

_It is not the shock of learning about vampires, the terrifying images of dismissal and a legendary weapon summoned from thin air, astonishing as those were. It is the revelation, after watching Ms Hauptman closely since her electrifying announcement, of how much and yet how little we saw._

_We did see politics being radically reinvented, a strategy fundamentally challenging both main parties, arguments about gun control redefined, the new centrality of the green crisis, mass media righteously rebuked, and the striking educational initiative of Others 101, reinforced by Mr Lafferty and the mesmerising work of Miss Hauptman._

_We also saw that for all its seriousness the Hauptman–Lafferty campaign is, frequently and purposefully, very funny._

_But until she showed us, we didn’t notice that Ms Hauptman had been in contact with a second great manitou and was establishing a complex, sharply practical, sociopolitical response that is staggeringly moral, projecting the radical interspecies hope of the Medicine Wolf Accords onto the worst of our national history and the deepest fault-lines in our polity. And though we heard those shots, saw heavy security, and sometimes remembered to acknowledge Ms Hauptman was bearing up well under what must be great strain, we did not see her playing bait, anticipating assassination attempts, and taking point in an international battle with what I must call evil._

_And what was there to notice? Using Ms Taylor and Ms Ligatt to broadcast from home and the domesticity of Ms Hauptman’s interview begin to look different. So do oaks that do more than frustrate photographers, the visit by Director Wiseman and AED Westfield, the handling of the hunt last Monday and that photo, and Miss Hauptman’s remark about real magical objects being as small as twigs and motes of dust. But no Hauptman, nor any preternatural with them, whom I presume were aware, showed any sign any human saw of the sheer magnitude of the strain they were under._

_We saw Ms Hauptman walk up to Medicine Wolf when it woke, and deal superbly with Cantrip’s attempted kidnap. We knew she killed the River Devil and Manannán mac Lír, and defeated Guayota. Her immense courage was never in question. But hot-blooded courage in battle and the cold-blooded courage we have seen without knowing it these last weeks are not the same. Very many people agree Ms Hauptman is blindingly cool, and the temptation is to point to that crowded split-second in Gateway Park, Excalibur wielded at terrible need, as a further example. But to know what Ms Hauptman’s vaunted cool truly means, look not to the one crowded moment, but to the grindingly crowded weeks before it._

_We have not had a warrior-stateswoman since Buffalo Calf Road Woman but we have one now, and it is hard not to believe that today in Gateway Park She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It not only decisively won her battle with Bonarata but swept the election, before a single vote has been cast and irrespective of whom the main parties nominate._

I had mixed feelings, however being aligned with Buffalo Calf Road Woman was flattering, but the focus on having seen without seeing made sense. The shock wasn’t just something new, but a sense of having the rug pulled from under the supposedly familiar. Even so, I’d told everyone repeatedly there were any number of things I wasn’t telling them, so they just needed to practice the sideways harder. I said so, and Jesse grinned.

“And always will, because you out-sideways everyone. But it’s what Ms Zeeman calls anagnorisis — it’s already happened, like Oedipus or, whosit, Agave, but no-one knows until wham, and everything turns upside down.”

“If you say so, Jesse. Who’s Agave?”

“The one who tore her son to bits in a religious frenzy and thought she’d killed a lion.”

Other conversation died away.

“Oh, her. I resent any comparison, or with Oedipus, but take the point.”

Jesse batted my arm. “Not them, the situations. Though Wulfe and Marsilia are kinda oedipal, except she was his child’s lover, so it’d be the other one … Phaedre. No, that was her stepson. Who Turned Marsilia?”

“Bonarata.”

“Urk. Sorta inverted Oedipus then, as well as Sauron.”

Jill put down her cup. “Jesse, please don’t collocate Oedipus and Sauron. It makes my head hurt.”

“Sorry, Jill, but Wulfe killing his son and wanting his granddaughter, Bonarata casting off his father and abused daughter, daughter seducing father and grandfather? A trilogy that did She of Livorno killing her parents, Wulfe and Bonarata dismissing her, and Mom dismissing Bonarata would be cool. Who Turned Wulfe? Do you think …?”

“Maybe. I’ve wondered, Jesse.”

“More urk. Talk about down the generations.”

“Let’s not. We don’t need any more Greek tragedies.”

“Maybe we do, Mercy.” Darryl was half-smiling. “A screenplay based on that could generate a lot of income, and someone’s going to do it …”

“Oh hush.”

“You could play yourself.”

“You want a dominant _oh hush_ , Darryl?”

_I could play you, but someone would have to dub my words._

I laughed. “Now that’s a much better idea, Skuffles. And it’s nearly time to go hear some people who really can play.”


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

I’d been unsure what my launch would actually be like, because I hadn’t known what it would be following. Assuming I’d survive to be there hadn’t helped calibrate anything, even before Ol’ Manitou River and the debate got thrown into the mix. Given my mixed-race identity I’d always known I’d have to address ethnicity, and the representatives had clarified how, but if I had done a little daydreaming about zapping bony old Bonarata and all the barking bigots, and being able to waltz onstage without a care, it had somehow not occurred that waltzing is contra-indicated when wearing a broadsword.

TV coverage showed the crowd at Sacajawea SP was already enormous. The musical line-up attracted plenty of Deadheads, but First People, African Americans, and Latinx were out in force. Caroline and Penny would be there later, but other crews were working the crowd between talking-heads analyses that didn’t know what to say. There was a festival feel, a desire to celebrate Ol’ Manitou River, but also uncertain solemnity very aware of yesterday’s death and dismissals, and frighteningly powerful magics. The net result was a crowd that murmured rather than shouted, and was despite its size very orderly. For new arrivals finding themselves disappointingly far back the number of repeater screens was a comfort, and there was a fine row of food stalls offering ethnic cuisines, all doing brisk business, and Amerindian craft stalls, which Jim had sorted.

Medicine Wolf arrived, trotting down the Snake, said hello on a general band, and wandered around before settling to talk to a large group of women, many with children, who turned out, when sprinting media got there, to be Pasco PD wives. They were charmed by Medicine Wolf, always tolerant of children’s curiosity, knew Maya Lucas, approvingly lamented how discreet she was about me, because they hadn’t had a clue what was coming, and like her knew exactly what knowing you were a target meant. Several had read the _NYT_ op-ed, and said that while I’d done what it called cold courage to a high degree, uniformed police and FD personnel did that every last working day. I hadn’t really thought about perceptions of hot and cold courage, but they left me feeling heartened although there were too many shining eyes. Some were down to feminist glee about tossing Senator Stupid out on his ear for dissing Oregon, but there was a quasi-religious _she slew a devil and all his works_ quoting the Man that worried me, because I really hadn’t, and a version of Andrea’s _she redefines awesome_ that might win votes but wasn’t much use otherwise.

Medicine Wolf moved on to a mixed-race church choir from Portland, a veterans’ group from Spokane, and some excited Yakama, and though accents shifted the story didn’t. It was odd, because I couldn’t deny I wanted to restore First People’s agency as citizens, but hearing people say I’d done so was … well, plain wrong, for starters, there being a long way to go. I was watching in the den, people steering clear while the house hummed with preparations, but after a bit Jill dropped on to a sofa.

“Stop overthinking everything, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars.”

“Overthinking?”

“Un huh. Leave that to other people. What you have is achievement shock. When you climb to apogee, you suddenly know how much further there is to fall. You didn’t fret waiting, so why start now? Do what needs doing and let the myth look after itself.”

“But the myth’s a problem, Jill. Why do they all need to … I dunno, sacramentalise everything?”

“Coyotes. Myths happen because people talk, Mercy. Trying to stop them is a waste of time. You wielded extreme power yesterday and it doesn’t matter if it was your own or begged, borrowed, or stolen because you were the focus. Extreme power has extreme results, especially when everyone on planet is an eyewitness. Bottom line? Of course they are all blown away, and so are you, rightly. Difference is, you know how to keep on keeping on. Just stop going broody and do it.”

“Broody?” Despite indignation I had to smile. “Thanks for some old bear sense. Want a permanent job on coyote patrol?”

“Not much. But yeah, Momma’s old bear sense. You know what I have a hard time remembering, Mercy? That you’re only 34. I’ve never had your mix of magics, but psychologically I couldn’t have done anything like what you’ve been about before I was ten times your age, and probably not then. You’re wildly precocious, and twice as tough as they come, but you still have to do things for the first time and it’s freaky.”

Adam’s hands dropped onto my shoulders from behind, and he kissed the top of my head before vaulting the sofa to sit beside me.

“Yeah, it is. Spot on, Jill.” He looked at me. “I’ve just spoken to an unusually emotional Bran, who asked me to thank you for Lenka. Bonarata too, but mostly Lenka. I pushed him a little.” Adam waggled a hand. “The Marrok’s the Marrok, and he didn’t want to be in a giving mood, but for my money there are two points. One is that about the only thing he has a gut fear of is black witchcraft, and though he’d outmatch any of us if he needed to, he knows he couldn’t have outmatched Bonarata as you did. The other is that he and most wolves would have had trigger freeze with Lenka. He did know her, pretty well, I’d say, and there are some bitter regrets in there. Charles and Anna are on their way, and Asil’s tagging along, apparently.”

I gave Adam a kiss, and leaned against him.

“I knew Bran had hangups about Lenka. He wanted her released but if he could have done it himself he would have long ago.”

Adam and Jill gave me looks, but the TV got more interesting as Bob Dylan walked onstage, and after a little throaty drawl saying the musicians thought they’d begin early as the crowd was so big, gave Medicine Wolf a tip of his hat, and launched into one of his better great manitou ballads.

“Huh. I don’t think I want to be talking any earlier, but with the Man due and those crowds, we’d better be on our way.”

“Yeah. I’ll tell the Secret Service to saddle up.”

That meant adding my many accessories, and though wearing Excalibur was absurd, I didn’t want to leave it and it didn’t want to be left. It also felt completely right, and the dress did set off its hilt and golden pommel, with Ceulydd’s embroidered length and Carnwennan’s white bone, so that was that. But after collecting Skuffles and Jesse and heading back down, I got a taste of probable reactions from the senior Secret Service guy, whose professionalism couldn’t stop him staring at Excalibur for a long second before offering me a hand.

“Very many congratulations, ma’am. And to you too, Skuffles. It’s good when a plan works.”

“Thank you, Agent, and yeah, you bet, but we were also very lucky.”

“Maybe, ma’am, but fortune favours the brave.”

_And coyotes, but Mercy’s not wrong._

“No. The squad in St Louis ask me to convey thanks.” He smiled slightly. “Your briefing left them scratching their heads, but they tell me you were very crisp with your orders when it happened.”

“I tried. And I know we’re all tough as nails, but are they all OK with what went down?”

“More or less, ma’am, thank you. The … sacrificed vampires are an ugly thing to live with, and we don’t know yet about the psychological effects for humans of, ah, dismissing one.”

“The heart doesn’t do logic so much, and dismissal will soon be murder, unless it’s justified vampicide, so I’d start with the same protocols for an agent who shoots a human.”

“Yes, that’s happening. We know how to live with what we sometimes have to do. It’s just … well, there’s some, ah, compound shock. Seeing what they’re calling joint preternatural ops full on was quite an education.”

“Shock wears off though vamp crumbling sticks in the mind. The accelerated consequences of every killing, writ large. We must get on but if anyone has a problem counsellors aren’t getting, ask me or Adam.”

“I’ll do that, ma’am, thank you. And time’s not as bad as you think — with those crowds we’re taking you via US12 and Sacajawea SP Road. The President and his party will come the same way.”

That made sense, and as we had a police escort the ride was one smooth swing, save some unpaved bumping to come in along the north bank of the Snake. It had its excitements all the same, because Skuffles felt entitled to some long overdue fun. Overnight cloud had cleared into a warm and clear late Spring day, so she wanted the roof open to stick her head out, though it gave the Secret Service hives. Everyone else thought it funny, and Jesse, behind us in a Hummer, sent a pic that caught Skuffles, ruff skulls and roses blown back, looking at a freaked pedestrian on Columbia Drive. Skuffles peered at my phone.

_I only said hello, and wasn’t it a nice day?_

She said it again, several times, as we began to skirt the crowd on the unpaved trail, and despite having heard Medicine Wolf it did make people jump, though most recovered swiftly enough to wave and smile. The crowd was rippling excitement as we were seen, and Skuffles being a little deadpan goofy was a good note, a little song of levity to balance all that gravity. She also said hi to Medicine Wolf, who returned the greeting and headed towards us. The secure area including the mound and stage was much larger than for Warren’s launch, extending along the bank of the Snake, and there was already a mess of people there, and more to come. Jenny and Andrea had arrived with Frank and Rachel, talking to Warren, Kyle, Jeremiah, and Ros, while Irpa, Þorgerðr, Vorðr, and Vanna were human-sized, talking to Dave Lemieux and Coyote, and Washington and Oregon were with Gordon, Bear in Momma mode, Wolf, Ramona, and a bunch of Freed. Tri-Cities PD Chiefs and Mayors were present, clustered round the Boss, and a silly number of state and federal bodyguards ringed the space. Our arrival brought silence, though I could hear Dylan singing ‘The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll’, and Skuffles’s cheery hello deepened it. We disembarked, and as I greeted Medicine Wolf they got a look at me, from feather to flats, very much via Excalibur, and Vorðr gave a troll whistle.

“Hail the conquering heroine, Mercedes Troll-friend. Nice dress.”

I grinned. “Isn’t it? The conquering heroine is Skuffles, though.”

_We can share the honours, Mercy. And I seem to recall some trolls holding up their end. Or his end, anyway._

Preternaturals laughed, humans not so much, but it broke ice and I had a chance to greet people, wolves, and Elder Spirits, moved by Gordon’s wordless blessing, Wolf’s strong approval, and Bear’s embrace of Jill.

“Good job, daughter. I’ll do some feeding up.” She looked me up and down. “You too, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars. That was channelling slow time?”

“And reaching for Excalibur. Burned lots of calories, but I can’t recommend it as a diet.”

Coyote slung an arm around my shoulders, laughing. “No. Your fine form continues, Lone Elk Stampede.”

“Less of the lone, please. And you were in Cloud Cuckoo Land this morning.” I looked at the others. “He wanted to graze bison calves Underhill.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Right. But you already knew real ducks were out, so why suppose bison would do better?”

“I forgot. I expect it was all the excitement. Oh, and Ol’ Manitou River sends regards. We agreed Medicine Wolf will teach it how to answer cell-phones, and you’ll install one in Fort Defiance Park in Cairo.”

“I will?”

But it made sense. Fort Defiance was at the Mississippi–Ohio confluence, and I could delegate. I checked with Medicine Wolf, who had already discussed answering phones with Ol’ Manitou River, and went to greet Washington and Oregon, forestalling wondering respect with brisk practicality. Could they please talk to Illinois and the NPS chief at Fort Defiance to clear installation? It wasn’t difficult, but had to be a very restricted number — one did not want to irritate a great manitou with cold calling.

“No, indeed.” Oregon frowned. “But a hot line for serving governors … Do you call Medicine Wolf often?”

“Only at need, ma’am. Manitous are curious about any number of things, but not big on small talk. It’s possible the human form of Ol’ Manitou River’s contact avatar will affect that, but I wouldn’t count on it. I’m also unsure if it matters Medicine Wolf had mindspoken me before we tried it by cell. I could ask, but a strict rule that only someone a manitou knows personally can place a call would be sensible.”

Washington nodded. “Right. I know Illinois fairly well, so I’ll make that call.” He shook his head. “You induce getting things done, Ms Hauptman. And yesterday was … well, my heartfelt congratulations on everything.”

“And then some.” Oregon nodded sharply. “I can see you’re uneasy with the praise you deserve, but there are practical consequences. Sticking to our own immediate business, I think quite a few Mississippi Basin governors are hoping to make it out here today to offer endorsements.”

“President’s giving them a ride in Air Force One. You’ve decided to tell the National Committees to take a hike?”

“Not quite, but it’s heading that way.” Oregon looked unhappy. “In any case, finding anyone still willing to run against you is going to be uphill work. You’ve spoken to the President today?”

“After he left St Louis. Matters vamp arising.”

“I would imagine. You were responsible for the FBI briefing that hit our inboxes immediately after the, ah, attack?”

“Preternaturals were, via Westfield. I apologise for the secrecy, but everything was need to know.”

“I bet. We were just getting on the coach when we heard noise, and the Secret Service knocked anyone standing flat. But it was only seconds before they told us there’d been an assassination attempt but you and everyone were safe, and hustled us out of there. We were all gaping when every phone pinged. It might have been funny if it hadn’t not been.”

I smiled. “Un huh. I know about that one. If the attack hadn’t happened you’d have got the briefing today, because the European end was about to blow anyway. You should meet Skuffles.”

That kept them busy, and I said hello to the Boss, hearing the Dead join Dylan and gathering he’d soon be on too and they intended to jam until I spoke and some more afterwards. He was warmly respectful, which was nice, but knew all about real people and oversize legends, which was better, and teased me by saying many more songs were called for as soon as he could get his head around it all.

“Do me a favour, and make it the Ballad or whatever of Skuffles?”

He laughed. “That’d work. ‘Bad Mouthful’, maybe.” He scribbled in a notebook. “And I have to ask what Excalibur was doing in Seattle?”

“Being hoarded, mostly. It got caught up in some wolf politics around coming out, and wound up in the Marrok’s care for a while.”

“And now it’s yours?”

“So it says. A lot of swords have some hunger to be used, magical ones more so. You could say I made it an offer it didn’t want to refuse.”

“You made Excalibur a job offer?” He scribbled again, and shook his head. “Way to go, Mercy. And those representatives are wonderful.”

“Thanks. We have to bite that bullet, and I’ll be saying so today. Some will be here, by the way. President’s giving them a ride. But I have to go be nice to mayors.”

I was too, politely refusing to show Excalibur despite exasperation with the request. A naked desire to nab personal media time for its own sake also failed to impress, and I held the line on invitations to Celilo Falls, but with a deep breath broached what might happen if, and the idea of a western White House in Kennewick pleased them better. The PD Chiefs were less of a trial, and had business, Rodgers telling me Clay had had a spotlight moment when the watching station had seen the attack and a call this morning from St Louis PD.

“Willis doesn’t mess about, but when he said it was vampires and that was why all the dust and no bodies I thought he’d flipped. Then the FBI email came in, and Fisher came by after sunset to brief me on what happened ten days back and deliver wooden rounds. Amazing. She’d hoped to be here by now but the President’s bringing more people than expected so she’s scrambling extra transport.”

“He is — governors and representatives.”

“More governors endorsing you? I’m not surprised, Ms Hauptman, but the main parties are falling apart almost as badly as vampires do.”

“Let’s not go there, Chief, however I made that walking dead crack at Senator Stupid. Oops.”

All three laughed, and Munday raised an eyebrow.

“You were mentally calling him that last night?”

“Guilty as charged, Chief, but I’d rather not say so in public.”

“Don’t see why you shouldn’t. Truth defence would be absolute.” He grinned. “And God knows I’m not objecting, but we need to get you a permit for a blade that long.”

“Already sorted.” I had my Washington license. “Covers guns of any calibre to .500, and blades of any length.”

“Huh. CIA special. Only ever seen one of these before.”

“Adam, Jesse, and the bodyguards are licensed in every state. We didn’t know how deep into any campaign the vamp thing would run, so we covered the bases.”

“Yeah, you do that a lot, I notice. Good job.” He looked round. “Someone wants you, Ms Hauptman.”

I turned and found myself given a hard hug of relief by Charles in best buckskins, making the cloak gust roses, then another by Anna, in a lovely red dress. Asil wore flowing Moorish clothes, and contented himself with kissing my hand.

“ _Mi princesa_.”

“Hello Asil. Charles and Anna I was expecting. Business or pleasure?”

“Both. It is more fun to be here than to watch TV, and I would offer respect in person. Yours was a great deed. And now you no longer need to keep me in reserve, I thought I might serve as a welcome distraction for the media. Charles told me what you plan to say, and I am perhaps not irrelevant, but it need not be today if it doesn’t fit for you.”

My mind spun. “Mmm. That’s very kind of you, Asil. Are you sure?”

“It is well, _querida_.”

“OK. Thanks. I found it hard to plan today because everything was so contingent, so I’m having to play it by ear. What would you say?”

“That I have seen much intolerance, and know what its results look and smell like. The Caliphate and Reconquista, Witch Wars, most of last century. Also that I saw Bonarata come, and despaired of ever seeing him go. Who was it you quoted to St Louis PD?”

“Um … what quote?”

“ _Crying to the end, ‘I have not finished’_.”

“Oh, that. Hill. Geoffrey. British poet my Wazzu history prof used teaching the Wars of the Roses, and that line stuck, because don’t we all? Some others too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. A battlefield — Towton, I think — he says was _stuck with strange-postured dead._ It was during a cold snap, and they all froze. Made me wonder why no-one who writes battle scenes ever deals with clearing the field afterwards.”

“I shall read him, _querida_. Two good lines imply more. And I may have to make the _Aficionados de Mercy_ an official fan club, you realise? You have quite outdone yourself in style.”

“Oh hush, Asil. Don’t you start.”

“But you have, little sister.” Charles’s look was warm. “The image of you and Excalibur with sparks, framed by the Arch, has already been sold by PBS for enough to run their network for a year. They asked about tithing to a new clean up the basin fund.”

“Rats. I hope they’re paying Dwayne properly.”

“They will if you tell them. And you must face the symbolism, Mercy.”

“Must I, big brother? Jill told me with old bear wisdom to get on with what needs doing and let myths look after themselves.”

“That is one strategy. Or make sure you own the myths.”

“Easier said than done.”

“How’s Jesse? She did very well yesterday.”

“Didn’t she, Anna? OK, but ask her yourself. She’s talking to Warren and Kyle. And be warned Skuffles, being off the leash at last, is feeling frisky.” I looked round. “She seems to be deep into it with Irpa and Dave Lemieux — probably a _Dave’s Picks_ cover he wanted. He’s the Dead’s archivist, and she seems interested in acting or modelling.”

Even Anna gave me a fisheye, and it occurred to me Skuffles would make a very decent hound of the Baskervilles or the pookah in _Harvey_ , which should have been a coyote not a rabbit anyway, but I was saved from that line of thinking by swelling disturbance in the crowd and sight of a _very_ extended presidential motorcade.

“Oh lord, here we go again.”


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

With so many vehicles disembarkation was serial, empty SUVs retreating though the presidential limo stayed. Medicine Wolf, Skuffles, Adam, and Jesse entertained the Man and Sawyer, and I greeted governors, short-circuiting any dancing around by thanking them for their endorsements. Illinois was there, so I mentioned Fort Defiance and handed him off to Washington. It was mostly western, northern, and younger governors who had come, though Georgia and Tennessee had tagged along with eyes on their water war, and all had pretty much decided to cut their losses where National Committees were concerned. No strategy having been announced or looking likely, they would create their own, which as they wanted a very positive federal response to Ol’ Manitou River to continue amounted to endorsing me and persuading federal and state candidates to support my core policies in the hope of not having a slate candidate beat them. I was clear I’d have to be persuaded someone was sincerely on board, but I was happy to recruit, and open to any practical evolving we could manage.

Then it was representatives, apologetic about turning up unannounced but unrepentant about accepting a ride on Air Force One. I didn’t mind in the least, but needed to know if they were willing to be onstage, which they were, and what I might do with them, which my backbrain was working out. The shape of what would work became clearer when I checked with stage crew, discovering someone had been smart. I managed words with the Boss before he went on, then the Man, who corralled governors while I did representatives, and we watched monitors relaying the stage while we waited. The Man looked round.

“You know, Ms Hauptman, that looks very like Jorma Kaukonen.”

“Because it is, sir. I want stuff that needs serious lead, so Bob Weir asked him and he jumped at it.”

“You’ve persuaded them to a set list?”

I laughed. “Never. Just a particular threefold number.”

When Dylan had been joined by the Dead he’d switched from ballads to more up-tempo back catalogue, his own and increasingly the Dead’s, ‘All Along the Watchtower’ and ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’ giving way to a pointed ‘He’s Gone’ and funky ‘Estimated Prophet’ that had people dancing. When the Boss joined them they had to do the new ‘Born with the USA’, to get some power chords out of the system, and were blasting through ‘Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)’. Adam tapped my arm, and I saw Leslie had arrived, looking frazzled as she spoke to senior Secret Service agents, so we headed over.

“Hey, Leslie. All OK?”

“Mercy.” She gave me a hard hug, glancing at Excalibur as she released me and shaking her head. “I am very happy you’re safe, considerably freaked by what you did, and run off my feet with sixty-two more VIPs to look after. But we need to talk.”

“Marsilia?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. The space in front of the stage was you? Serious thanks — it’s very helpful. Why did governors and representatives fall on you?”

“You’re welcome. Secret Service was scrambling, FBI’s got a bigger fleet here than anyone else, and I was DO for interagency liaison because it’s a you event. It’s all sorted, it just took time I didn’t have.”

“Right. Who else needs to hear you about Marsilia?”

“No-one, but I’ll welcome input from anyone who knows her and Wulfe.”

“Know does not mean understand in either case. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know if there is a problem, Mercy. When you called Geronimo I scrambled with our SWAT team, and found Wulfe, Marsilia, and your friend Stefan awake, watching TV in that basement with a bunch of donors. Wulfe had spoken to the AED, and he and Stefan were making calls but clearly shocky. Marsilia was out of it, eyes glazed and voice remote. Donors were physically OK, if also shocky, but I am a lot clearer on why you say _sheep_ the way you do. On the surface, all fine, for a new value of fine, and as they reasonably said they’d have to be a lot busier after sunset we left them to it. But while I think I see why you get on with Stefan, Marsilia did not strike me as anything like stable, and Wulfe was a weird, jangly mix of hyperexcitement, deep shock, and what felt like barely contained rage, far more at you than me. Wolves with us said Wulfe was always weird and no-one knew what he really thought about anything, but after Bonarata even he was not going to take you on. Fae liaison agreed but I want your take, because I left feeling I didn’t trust either of them an inch but I have no probable cause to do otherwise.”

“Vamps are walking probable cause. Who was fae liaison?”

“Ymir no last name. Slim, a bit silvery. Registration form has him as a snow elf, but no data on what those are.”

“They don’t exist. He’s one of the _jötnar_ , but everything about them is really unclear. He’s smart though, if vulnerable to some kinds of witchcraft, and wouldn’t try to deceive in this. I hear you about Wulfe and Marsilia, but you’ll want to let dust settle, literally, before you conclude anything. Beyond shock, and Marsilia having been Bonarata’s main squeeze for a while, back in the night, add that Wulfe Turned Bonarata, and Bonarata Turned Marsilia. Bonarata broke both bonds centuries back but for those two it’s still more than shock.”

Leslie stared at me. “They’re all vamp family? Eeuw.”

“Stefan isn’t, though he did once serve Marsilia. But talk to Jesse — that was her reaction before Jill complained collocating Sauron and Oedipus made her head hurt.” I grinned, because Leslie obviously felt the same, and so did listening agents. “As to Wulfe’s rage I have more than one theory, but what they boil down to is that any two or more of his cunning plans didn’t work out. I doubt he was what any of us would call sane when he was Turned, very young, and even if he was he hasn’t been for centuries. He wanted Bonarata punished rather than dismissed, I’d guess, and probably hoped to get the magic Bonarata stole from She of Livorno for himself and Marsilia. Releasing the ghosts and unravelling the witchcraft puts it permanently out of reach, thank God, so tough. But I think he’ll chew and swallow. Keep a close eye on his donors, though.”

“Oh yeah. And Marsilia’s.”

“She has human donors now?”

Leslie blinked. “Why wouldn’t she?”

“Masters and mistresses usually feed on other vamps. Control process. But with seethe numbers down maybe she needs vitamin supplements. Huh. Find out how new those donors are?”

“Can do. You think Wulfe wanted you dead?”

“I think Wulfe wants any number of things, many incompatible with one another, and is even less rational than usual when it comes to Bonarata and Marsilia. Even vamps find no-one pushes their buttons like family.”

“God above, Mercy. You are being very calm about this.”

“Why not, Leslie? Ding dong, the witch is dead. I would say it’s party time, but they’re not looking in such good shape either.”

“No. And I get a victory dance, big time. But those vampires are freaking bad, and I don’t think you get used to them.”

“A bit, but Wulfe scares everyone — even Gray Lords are wary of him, and the Marrok — so it’s way better to keep him onside. Stefan may contact me, and I need to meet Marsilia and Wulfe soon, so we’ll see.”

“You’ll go to the seethe?”

“Not a chance. Public venue. Uncle Mike’s, probably — I warned him I might need to use his place.” I looked at my senior Secret Service agent. “And that I’d have a human squad on me. It’s the local preternatural bar, off East Ainsworth near the port. Something to look forward to, hey?”

He gave me a long-suffering look.

“Public bars are a security nightmare, ma’am, as you well know.”

“I do, but handy preternatural meeting places are in short supply. We’ll take lots of wolves, Agent, but everyone will be on best behaviour. And that’s tomorrow’s problem. Are you good for now, Leslie?”

“Better. Some. I truly do not like vampires.”

“Welcome to the club, but they have an upside. Stefan really is a good guy, and Wulfe has a chair that compels truthful answers he might be willing to use in a just cause. But I need to get on.” ‘Rosalita’ had given way to a brightly cheerful ‘China Cat Sunflower’, and I knew what would come next. “You’re not wrong, Leslie, but don’t add to pressure on Wulfe just now — it already has to be immense. And listen hard to Stefan.”

“Right. Sorry, Mercy. You don’t need extra crap, but it’s been a very long two days and nothing like enough sleep. God only knows how you’re coping. You didn’t get out of St Louis until closer to dawn than midnight.”

“I had time Underhill when there was a delay getting back, so I’m not too bad. But everyone’s running on euphoria. Early night tonight. Just now, though, I’m gonna be a dancing fool.” I looked at Excalibur. “Foot-tapping fool, anyway. Come say hi to the Man and relax.”

She looked dubious but followed us. I sent Adam a query, and got back an image of Wulfe looking three ways so fast he seemed to have three heads below a thought-balloon containing jagged question-marks. I recognised Snowy, trying to decide between picking up a bone and King Ottakar’s Sceptre, fallen from Tintin’s pocket, and laughed.

“Confusion to our enemies. Though he’s not quite one of those.”

“Near enough. He’s a one-vamp freakshow. And Marsilia.”

“True. Time to listen to the music, though.”

It was interesting to see the Man greet Leslie, offering thanks for her insights, and see her dark blush. But he had a question for me.

“Haven’t heard them do this in years. One of your requests?”

“Un huh. My wolf guardian when I was pre-teen had _Aoxomoxoa_ and _Live/Dead_ on the turntable often enough. I’ve always liked the cheer of ‘China Cat Sunflower’, but it’s mainly for the segue.”

“Which one?”

“The one they liked early in 1968, but I asked them to combine that with later developments of what’s coming up soon now.”

His eyes narrowed. “‘The Eleven’?”

“Have a skull-and-roses point. But what should also segue into that?”

“‘Saint Stephen’.”

“Have another. You’re on when ‘The Eleven’ ends.”

“Damn. Why that one?”

“The tempo suits coyote dancing. Hush.”

I saw Leslie settle with our levity, and so did the Man, offering me a wink. Whether ‘Saint Stephen’ was about the stoned Christian martyr or the differently stoned Haight-Ashbury guru Stephen Gaskin, I’d always liked its rising and falling lines and local accelerations, and once it segued into the astonishing structure-for-a-jam Phil Lesh created for Robert Hunter’s counting poem ‘The Eleven’ I had a hard time keeping feet and fingers still. Even as a child the insanely fast 11/8 time fascinated me, in the cut on _Live/Dead_ that Bryan had played loud when he wanted to cheer himself up, and I’d taken to trying to dance to it on four feet, with eventual success.

‘China Cat Sunflower’ segued into ‘Saint Stephen’ and it took willpower not to play air-guitar with the slow opening rise of Kaukonen's pure notes and their sweeping descent as everyone else came in, and once they were in the groove I didn’t try to stop feet or hands, fingers flicking the beat on thighs, enjoying the rough harmony of the voices until they reached the ironic conclusion that _one man gathers what another man spills_. Then we had the William Tell bridging verses, and the tempo skittered before shifting into 11/8. I moved so I could finger-drum on a barrier protecting the monitor stand while my feet tapped counterpoint. You can break down 11/8 any number of ways, but I thought back in the day Garcia had mostly been hearing _one_ -two-three- _one_ -two-three- _one_ -two-three- _one_ -two, and so was Kaukonen, closely matching Garcia’s melodic line on versions I’d cited to Dave Lemieux. The Man gave me a sideways look.

“You drum too?”

“Not with a kit but I get complex tempi. Sorta. Here come the lyrics.”

Posted versions give the whole of Hunter’s poem, but they hadn’t sung it like that, and didn’t now, compacting the lyric and splitting lines between overlapping voices. Dylan kept out of it, wisely given the state of his voice these days, Kaukonen and the Boss alternated lines Garcia had sung, and Bob Weir and Phil Lesh did their counterpoint in punching harmony. And it was on to Kaukonen unreeling his take on the central jam before finding the repeated rising figure that crested out into the nearest an electric guitar can come to church bells, descending tenor to bass, the odd intervals unavoidable in change-ringing stretching eight notes to eleven beats. Bran had missed English church bells, and the church in Aspen Creek had been firmly provided with a bell tower, so the sound had been familiar, and I thought mapping an octave sequence onto an 11/8 bar was an act of genius, letting my fingers say so in stuttering tattoo. Often enough ‘The Eleven’ had segued into ‘Turn On Your Love Light’, but that was for another day, and as players started dropping beats and let the jam fade Medicine Wolf headed out front and we shifted towards the stage.

“Oh man.” Bob Weir’s voice was laughing. “It’s been a while since we did that sequence, and 11/8’s a blast. And we did it by special request of the person we’re all here to listen to. But you know, last week, right before he brought the Boss onstage, that guy in the excellent jug band you had playing said little wonders happen around Mercy Hauptman, just as big ones do. Can’t say I ever thought I’d be saying this mid-gig, but we’re taking a break, and I ask you all now to give a warm welcome to the President of the United States, here to introduce his successor.”

The Rhythm Devils gave the Man a drum roll, and he got applause as he advanced to the mike, Sawyer waving and going to stand by the Boss.

“Thank you, Mr Weir. When I was in breadhead oil, and the old politics-as-usual, being an open Deadhead wasn’t such a good idea, but I’ve sneaked into a few gigs, and always listened to you guys with admiration, so I’m very happy to step out of that closet now.”

That got him cheers, but he used his volume slider and became brisk.

“People of the Tri-Cities and all my fellow Americans, let me first give you what news I can, after the extraordinary events yesterday. In the USA all remains calm and under control. Integrating vampires who accept the Code of Conduct, daywalking by night, continues smoothly under AED Westfield’s and Director Wiseman’s oversight. Those who do not accept the Code have been detained, and as most were never legally citizens they will with all due process be deported, unless serious criminal charges are preferred. In other nations there have been more casualties, vampire and human, but things seem to be calming as shock wanes. Still more positively, having met Ol’ Manitou River this morning, we reached broad agreement to establish a Department of the Mississippi Basin to oversee the many strands of transformation involved in curbing pollution and removing dams in return for greatly improved flood control, new irrigation, and Ol’ Manitou River’s attention to the volcanic threat at Yellowstone. There’s a way to go, but _very_ productive Ol’ Manitou River Accords are well in sight, so we are safer and better off, with a new preternatural alliance agreed in principle and a major domestic and international threat averted.”

What was not to like? and the crowd told him so. He gave a thumbs-up.

“Right. But here’s something you don’t know. After Mercy Hauptman’s three amazing successes yesterday — greeting Ol’ Manitou River, dismissing Bonarata with his whole hit-squad, and utterly demolishing her rivals — a significant number of state governors she invited to meet Ol’ Manitou River have decided not to wait on National Committees any longer, and are here to join me in endorsing Mercy Hauptman for my present job.”

They filed on as he named them, men and women of both parties assembling without regard for affiliation, and they got drum rolls too. Numbers built excitement and it was another thing no-one had seen before. Then, thanks to Leslie, governors could leave by descending a ramp into a large clear strip in front of the crowd ; Secret Service agents with the Freed held the perimeter, and the Man picked it up again.

“Air Force One has a lot of space, so when I headed here from St Louis I offered some other people a ride. Yesterday Mercy Hauptman took a lot of trouble to observe a distinction between campaigning and matters like great manitous and vampires beyond any campaign, so representatives of the Mississippi Basin she’d assembled couldn’t properly endorse her, but they surely do, and today they’d like to say so.”

Anglos were cheering and clapping as hard as anyone, and there was real force in the receptions of First People and African Americans as they were drummed on, the Man thanking them for serving their country, and me for arranging it.

“The reasons for strong positive discrimination are what we’re going to be hearing about soon, and we’re nearly there, but there’s more than one name on a presidential ticket, more than one race between now and November. There are also VIPs where that P stands for preternatural.”

Representatives joined governors in the clear strip, and their place was taken by Frank and Rachel, Irpa and Vanna, to an extra burst of applause I hoped was because of trolls’ very visible role in the fight, Jeremiah and Ros, and Kyle and Warren, who got a snatch of ‘Born With the USA’ and another crescendo of cheers. Elder Spirits tended to make more than First People quietly respectful, but Coyote went first, and Second People were happy to cheer him after his antics. The others didn’t want the hassle of being recognised and went in animal-headed, Jill beside Bear, which quieted things, and the Man took advantage.

“Coyote, Thunderbird, Wolf, and Bear, thank you for all the assistance you and avatars have given in the matter of vampires. Please pass that on to your peers. And thank you, Ms Widepaw, for your guardianship. You have to be the fastest grizzly anywhere, never mind in the west.”

Jill grinned, and quiet dissolved into another cheer, so it _was_ roles in combat that were on top.

“Uh oh. Skuffles, slider control fast, please. It’s going to be bedlam.”

_Cacophonies can be fun._

“And painful, when you have coyote ears.”

The Man used his own volume slider again, and gestured. “The stage is getting crowded, but we have room for some more. Eighteen days ago, when Washington, Oregon, and I responded to Mercy Hauptman’s question, _are you serious?_ , by endorsing her and pledging our votes and ten-buck affirmations, there were a bunch of political movers and shakers in DC who thought I’d lost my mind completely. Lord, how they squawked!” There was laughter the Man pushed through. “And you all didn’t — because you got it right away, if you hadn’t already. We’ve made very important national steps in the last two years, and however they’re things we have to do together, bottom line is that most are down to Mercy Hauptman. There’s a reason it’s called the Path of Mercy, though I’m told she argued against naming it that as hard as she could — which she would, because she’s very modest, and gets antsy when people try to give her accolades she deserves. But that’s a problem she’s going to have to live with, when she holds my present job.” He held up a hand. “But Mercy Hauptman is a family coyote-girl, and family matters. She couldn’t do what she does without her husband and mate, Adam, and their daughter Jesse, who’s been showing us all just how smart, strong, and wise seventeen can be. Her adoptive wolf brother, Charles Smith, with his wife and mate Anna, have been critical liaisons in the Medicine Wolf Accords and more. There are also the amazing Skuffles and a special guest even I don’t know much about. So I’m not just asking you now to welcome and give it up bigtime for our next president, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It, Elf-friend, Troll-friend, Vampire saviour and slayer, Daughter of Coyote, newest wielder of Excalibur, Mercy Hauptman and a whole lot more, I’m asking you to welcome our next first family, because though she’ll be taking point they are all going to be leading us, as they already are. Put your hands together now for the Hauptmans!”

The Man had been raised Baptist and had the preaching rhythm in his blood, so he really did have them primed, and it _was_ a cacophony. Jesse was between Adam and me, Skuffles at my side, Charles, Anna, and Asil behind us, and it was all any of us could do not to flinch at the decibel level, but I could hear the Rhythm Devils giving me more 11/8, and gave them a smiling bow. We toughed it out, the Man stood aside, and Jesse and Adam drifted to a halt as I took the last steps with Skuffles, seeing a tumultuous sea of faces in slanting light. No-one could sustain that for long, and Skuffles obliged with a loud _Oy!_

_It’s very heartening, thank you all, but hush a little, hey? Any amount of Stuff That Matters coming right up._

Skuffles lay down, and that as much as her mindvoice had an effect. So did my silence after a smile of thanks, gesturing until noise dropped.

“Thank you, everyone, for an amazing reception, and your faith that we can change for the better, however it’s hard work.” I turned. “And thank you, Mr President, for your introduction, your endorsement, and the way you’ve dealt with issues surrounding the forcible outing of vampires.” I swung back to the crowds. “And it was forcible outing, make no mistake. It was necessary, and justified, but it leaves a bad taste all the same, and not only Bonarata’s. That’s probably not what you were expecting me to say first-up, and I have more cheerful things to say later, but hard things are best dealt with sooner. Forcibly outing vampires has become twined with the election, but its real relevance is as a demonstration that I — like other wolves, fae, Elder Spirits, avatars, and manitous — do not, as a preternatural, automatically favour other preternaturals. Wolves were once human, all avatars are half-human, and to those who signed the Medicine Wolf Accords lives matter. Every last one, irrespective of kind, age, gender, ethnicity, faith, orientation, or anything except behaviour. Question is, how do humans stack up on that scale?”

Very loud noise had become very deep silence, and I nodded.

“Yeah. That one. I’ve had to fight some bad preternatural threats, but also Cantrip, the Heuters, JLS, and Dim Future, and so have Adam and Jesse, Charles and Anna, with most every preternatural and their close kin. There’s a lot of human hate out there. Frank, Jesse, and I are not pushing Others 101 because preternaturals need to learn that lesson. And what I spent most of yesterday doing was about that. The President mentioned my positive discrimination in selecting representatives to meet Ol’ Manitou River, but didn’t say why I’d done that. And didn’t need to, because everyone knows, if they’re remotely honest with themselves.”

The cloak folded itself back so the absurd array of weapons on my belt was visible.

“There are pressing reasons I go armed most everywhere, as there are for every citizen of colour and every woman to do so. And that’s not on, so I started thinking hard when Medicine Wolf told me its neighbour of the Mississippi Basin would like to meet humans residing within it. There’s been a lot of praise thrown at me today, most over the top, but the _New York Times_ said something I can’t deny — that I’m trying to apply the principle of the Medicine Wolf Accords to our scheduled Ol’ Manitou River Accords, and in doing so I’m taking on our national racial history, which has _not_ been good.”

I let myself settle into my stance, and the image that came onscreen was a fractured Stars-and-Stripes, more jagged than the quilting pattern, with ugly splotched stains. Breaths were drawn sharply in.

“I know. That doesn’t look so well, does it? But it speaks a truth. None of this is easy, but it has to be faced. We all love our country. Adam fought for it in Vietnam, as the President did, and many others. But they all know it was a wrong war, fought for bad reasons in bad ways. And being a patriot doesn’t, shouldn’t, mean my country right or wrong, no matter what. People make mistakes, and do bad things. So do nations. And though I’m far from Roman Catholic, they are right you cannot obtain absolution or any kind of forgiveness if you do not confess your sins, one way or another. So where does that leave us when it comes to the Mississippi Basin and the decision of Ol’ Manitou River to speak with us?”

I spread my arms.

“It leaves us facing real challenge but also gives us real opportunity. I said yesterday I first thought about geography, the sheer extent of Ol’ Manitou River’s self, embodied in thirty-two states and governors, then I was hit by history. That was my major at Wazzu, and it involved thinking about more than old facts and what happened when. There’s also what we do with the history we know, or don’t, because what happened in our land, good and bad, is what we all inherit, but like most nations we do a lot of cherry-picking, remembering glory and forgetting shame. And one thing I learned at Wazzu, and have thought about ever since, is that after 1945, Germans who were dealing with their savagely unhappy inherited history invented a word for remembering shame. German compounds words by sticking others together so it’s a jawbreaker, _vergangenheitsbewaltigung_ , and you can translate it more than one way — some possibles are on the screens, but what they come down to is the work of dealing with inherited guilt. Remembering shame, so you don’t incur more. You didn’t do it, you aren’t to blame personally, and yet you inherit the guilt along with the ruins. We all do. So to begin with, let’s do some different cherry-picking.”

What came onscreen was an animated version of the graphics I’d sent governors, showing the whole Mississippi Basin, and charting, year by year since 1776, the inexorable spread of Anglos with African Americans they had enslaved, First People they displaced, and violent deaths of all three with the slaughter of bison. The fluctuating Hispanic presence was also shown. Figures could only be ballpark, and I said so while insisting they _were_ ballpark, methodical estimates not wild guesses, and the tale they told was of radical imbalance that lessened a little over time but didn’t go away. After 1865 there was a shift, but Jim Crow ensured a continued elevation of violent African-American deaths that persisted, and after the Indian Wars battle-deaths of First People became deaths from illness and malnutrition in inadequate reservations. With the twentieth century African Americans flowed west and north in millions, but creation of LA’s Watts and Chicago’s South Side hadn’t made for peaceful old age either. And the only reason bison deaths dropped was because they were almost all dead anyway. Light was fading, and screens stood out brightly.

“It’s an ugly tale, isn’t it? Our past shapes as well as stains our present, and the political name for the history you’ve just seen, the form it takes now, is _white, might, and right_. That was what Cantrip stood for, and the murderous Heuters, father and son alike. So when the Paths of Assertion and Mercy and Manitous push back against that bigotry, they have to push back at older history behind it. God knows there are plenty of historical sins on our plate, including Vietnam, but will anyone disagree the two greatest shames of our nation, the deepest stains on our honour, are enslavement of African Americans and near genocide of Amerindians? Both were abominations, and neither can be undone. I told you we faced a real challenge, but I also said it was a real opportunity, and it is. We can hardly be proud the principal scene of both those greatest crimes was the Mississippi Basin, but we can do something with the fact that Ol’ Manitou River now forces us to see that collocation, and address both, individually and in joint harness. Here’s some of the how.”

It’s easy for discussion of guilt to get hung up on financial reparations, which always puts Anglo backs up, but if serious investment in African-American communities and First People’s reservations was needed, it wasn’t the only thing. We’d heard a lot about removing Confederate and slavery-complicit statues and memorials, names that warranted scrubbing, but less about putting new ones up, though they were needed, as were new names. How many towns and cities with Amerindian names — which was a lot — had no memorial to peoples they were named for, languages they were named in? Museums, libraries, and study centres were needed as resources for Others 101, which was so not only about preternaturals — and change would flow both ways. If African Americans and First People wanted better Anglo and Latinx knowledge of their histories, they had to do some meeting and greeting, teaching and preaching. Yes, it’d cost good money, but no child should graduate high school without knowing about our many ethnicities and faiths, the sheer variety of the world, and understanding that being different, being other, was not automatically a threat and almost always a communal resource. And if we made sure kids knew, we’d see progressive change as they became adults.

I had chosen representatives by occupation for more than one reason. People who seriously work the waters, fresh or salt, are, like most soldiers, more interested in competence than its colour, and I called up men and women of all four major ethnicities who were very happy with the idea that Mississippi Basin river-use initiatives, old and new, including all river freight, fishing, and tourism, would seek specifically to address that set of inherited historical racial problems as they could. Hiring, equal pay and benefits, promotion, education, simple courtesy — a growing network of smaller initiatives across the Basin, spreading with work exchanges, secondments, and the needs of clean-up. On screen places and connections were highlighted, rivers as rhizomes from which new cultures could grow, using resources of, but not dependent on, top-down initiatives governors would pursue. There would be major projects around levees and dam removals, where interculturation could flourish, and as bison migration was restored Buffalo Rangers, not only African-American but a national service for all, open to all, as the Army Corps of Engineers was, with the same mix of high ideals and fierce practical competence.

“Some might wonder why restoring bison migration matters. One reason is that their Elder Spirit is still suffering badly from the mass murder of his children, and the motive for that near-extinction wasn’t only to free land for ranching, but to deny it to First People. The same man who said the only good Indian he ever saw was a dead Indian, Philip Sheridan, was a prime mover of that vile and irresponsible tactic. He anticipated the thinking that saw us try to defoliate Vietnam so trees wouldn’t get in the way of gunfire. Think about that one. And there’s a powerful symbolism in trying to restore some of what we slaughtered, as well as other factors. Wolves and coyotes are not big on vegetarianism, but demand for red meat is falling and needs to fall further — which is handy, as we need land to reforest. So there has to be some reallocation of land use in the plains states, and providing a migration corridor for bison will help structure that. And, more seriously than you might think, there’s also the fact that Ol’ Manitou River finds cows boring, reasonably, so bison are a way of accumulating points with manitous, Elder Spirits, and First People, which are really not so easy to come by.”

I’d have to return to it but the thought was there.

“So, as Secretary Sawyer said having just met Medicine Wolf, are there a million questions? You bet. But WashU conferences are scheduled, thanks to the President federal government is reconfiguring to meet the challenge, and _nothing_ I’ve suggested is remotely impossible. I’ve said before great manitous tend to shrink the scope of the impossible, but co-operation, pan-human and pan-preternatural, shrinks it too. Together we _can_ do this, and if you elect me and Frank, and the slate candidates, we will keep doing it, with all speed. It won’t happen overnight, or overyear, even overdecade, because reshaping the weight of history doesn’t, but if we don’t start it won’t happen at all, and it badly needs to.”

I held up a hand to stop swelling noise.

“But let’s go back to where I started, forcibly outing vampires leaving a bad taste, as it should. But vampires were in a bad place, oppressed and neglected, often enough made vicious by it. Sound familiar to anyone? So I say to vampires learning to daywalk by night — most in the US will be awake now — that everything I’ve said in principle about all of us applies to you as well. The Undead need _vergangenheitsbewaltigung_ too, to learn and discuss their own history, despite its literal and moral darkness, as we do. That amazing hoard of Bonarata’s is one thing, and it doesn’t seem any kind of chance it was full of Borgia materials. Then there are his evident connections to organised crime, especially smuggling — and coffins are good for that, as Chomsky told us while Vietnam was happening. And there is a lot more, all the way down to how vampires treat those they Turn, because that can be kindness or a form of slavery. And unless vampires do that work, confront their own history and shames as we confront ours, we could wind up using _their_ otherness as one of _our_ glues. Do you all see that? Oh, he or she may be a differently coloured human but they’re our differently coloured human, and at least they ain’t a vamp. Does that sound familiar too? It does to me. Horribly so. And for all avatars have a longstanding problem with vampires, which we’ll be working on, I will fight that kind of thinking every way I can, and you need to do so too. _E Pluribus Unum_ it says, _Out of many, one_. One. Not one-and-three-fifths, nor fifty, nor anything except one.”

People are odd. The sheer weight of the topic had been keeping them quiet, but positive possibilities caught imaginations, and mentioning the old constitutional obscenity of the three-fifths so-called compromise punched African-American buttons, or perhaps they just felt they’d been quiet long enough, because they erupted. Cheering morphed into _Mercy’s Slate!_ over and over, and it seemed better to let them get it out of their systems, but what was I supposed to do meanwhile? After a minute or two I looked at Skuffles, who sighed and came to her feet.

 _Ahem! There_ are _more things to be said, you know, and musicians are waiting on us._

Gradually sound died, and I smiled, thinking a distraction was in order.

“Thank you all, but Skuffles is right. And I’m done for now with the more recent history of the Mississippi Basin, but not with history, because there’s someone I’d like you all to meet.” Asil came forward to stand beside me, smiling though I could feel his tension. “I’ve known this wolf as Asil Moreno, Asil the Moor, since I was knee-high, but he was born Hussan ibn Galib, and he’s one of the oldest wolves in the world because the last round number he hit was 1300.”

 _Oh those pins dropping_.

Only I heard, but Skuffles wasn’t wrong, and humans on stage were as bug-eyed as everyone.

“That gives him a perspective on people and events that isn’t always so cheerful, but it’s worth some hard thinking, so please listen carefully now.”

Asil spoke simply and remorselessly into a very extended silence. His father had been killed at the Battle of Tours, or Ma’Arakat Balat ash-Shuhada, in 732, and as a young wolf he’d fought Franks for the Umayaad Caliphate, serving as an emissary, which was how he’d met Charlemagne, after Roncevaux. Human violence continued as always with wars, crusades, and genocide of the Cathars, but as he’d aged he’d withdrawn from human affairs and faced preternatural ones — wolves divided by power struggles culminating in the Reconquista, witches, likewise, and vampires who had come with Romans and liked wolf- and witchblood better than human. Asil being Asil, his basic belief that to be a werewolf was to be cursed came through, and his observation that he’d stopped having children more than a thousand years ago because he could no longer bear watching them die of old age or fail the Change had the stunning effect it once had on me and Jesse. Then we got the Inquisition, Witch Wars, new to everyone human, preternatural migration to the New World, and the emergence in the Marrok of a new discipline and co-ordination for wolves, with the contrasting example of Bonarata. The upturn was extended into human technological acceleration, with many horrors but also the force to begin to solve even the oldest problems. Then, with a sideways look, he said that when I’d been small he’d been in a rough patch, a grumpy old bogey to avoid, but he’d seen me stand up to the Marrok, and been impressed. And last year he had seen what everyone had, while receiving the inestimable gift of Medicine Wolf’s omega abilities, and been moved to found a fan-club, _Aficionados de Mercy_ , not political but aesthetic, admiring my style.

“Yesterday is the most outstanding example so far. Ol’ Manitou River needed meeting, Bonarata needed defeating, and Mercy’s rivals needed beating, but no-one else could have pulled off so many dominoes in a row. She will tell you it was luck, and some was, yet luck she earned, and it is never wise to ignore those luck strongly favours. And the facts remain — Iacopo Bonarata and eleven of his most potent killers attacked Mercy at a time and place of his choosing, all were dead within seconds, and we are left with an image of her standing among fae, avatar, tibicena, wolves, Elder Spirit, and humans, framed by the Gateway Arch, drawing Excalibur from thin air to cleave black witchcraft asunder and free enslaved ghosts. _Magnífica!_ _Almuzahara sayf._ And Mercy’s style boosts her political power, moving all who see, so it is not self-regarding. Theologians may disagree, but I call it a form of grace, and tell you all flatly I have seen no leader so wield grace since the last flowering of the Caliphate. If you would have the advice of long experience, however deeply other, treasure it, and her, for the coherence of luck, style, and great magical potency is vanishingly rare under sun and moon, and she is our blessing in our need.”

He gave me a bow, retreating to stand beside Anna, who brushed his hand with omega calm, and I faced a dazed crowd.

“That’s not for me to comment on, but thank you Asil, for your faith in me. We’ve been trying warfare for thirteen centuries and more, and it hasn’t worked so well, so let’s try something else. The last historical matter for today is first steps, in the form of round tables, starting next weekend, under Frank’s chairmanship, to bring together preternaturals and historians of all ethnicities to explore specific American issues, local, regional, and national. Wolves, avatars, and fae will be involved, and I hope vampires. PBS will broadcast them on radio and TV and they’ll continue through the fall, looking at cheerful and offbeat things as well as bad ones we need to deal with, so take a look, hey?” They seemed to indicate they’d do that. “Thanks. And as I consider myself well and truly launched, we’re going to let these wonderful musicians get back to playing their socks off for us. But I’ll be available, at the end of the secure area there.” I pointed with Manannán’s Bane. “I would rather go walkabout, but my poor bodyguards have been though a lot already. Be aware there will be checks on those wanting to meet me, and you’ll be on film for Ms Taylor and Ms Ligatt. But please come if you have a real question — which does not include ‘Ooh can I see Excalibur?’, because the answer’s the same as last night — or a good idea. Slate candidates, governors, and representatives will be there. And that leaves just one thing.” Adam and Jesse came up beside me, with Coyote. “I told you my irrepressible not-exactly father was doing posters. Well, there’s a new one in Times Square. It’s a promise about campaigning differently, and the last thing I’m saying about dismissing Bonarata. If it makes you laugh, good. Laughter’s a tonic we need. I hope Frank and I, and all slate candidates, will have your votes in November, and thank you for listening.”

When the River Devil poster came up there was a stunned gasp, but as the joke clicked laughter spread and tensions eased. Speech wasn’t readily possible on stage, but Skuffles was handy.

_Mercy says thank you to governors, representatives, and musicians, out of whose hair we should get. And everything’s welcome, but if you could get ‘Scarlet Begonias’, ‘Like a Rolling Stone’, and the uptempo version of ‘The Ghost of Tom Joad’ in there, we’d be an even happier coyote._

We got musicianly thumbs-up, and after more waving and smiling made it off-stage. Governors and representatives had a way round the outside, so the secured area filled fast, but not faster than Elder Spirits reverted human, Gordon giving me a rare clap on the shoulder.

“You remain my favourite coyote, Mercy. That was _well_ done.”

Coyote grinned. “I know you said no more Lone Elk Stampedes, but if you will keep doing them …”

“Oh hush, you.”

“Lone Elk Stampedes?” The Man arrived, sounding quizzical.

Coyote recapitulated the neverending saga of my names. Lone Elk Stampede meant explaining customised _Clue!_ , but the Man got Threshing Sledge on his own, pinpointing Isaiah.

“Beating mountains small. That I get. And I’m not sure I want to know about duckponds, but if you collect names, Ms Hauptman, I’ve got one for you — Eight-sided Whispering Hallelujah Hatrack. It occurred to me hearing ‘The Eleven’ I’ve never known what one of those might be, but you seem to fit the bill.”

He and I managed to hold laughter, even when a baffled Wolf told him he was stranger that anyone had thought, until Coyote thoughtfully observed he’d assumed it was a paraphrase for a very quietly-spoken elk, but Lone Eight-sided Whispering Hallelujah Hatrack Stampede might prove a bit much, when all three of us had a fit of giggles. I don’t think presidents are supposed to do that, but it’s no problem for coyotes. Then we went to meet the people, and found there were already a lot of them. I sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

Not having got the early night I wanted I would have liked a lie-in, but I didn’t get that either. There had been decent questions from those who’d come to talk, often with a local focus but equally a new sense of what the Pacific North-West leading by example might mean, and I’d interspersed media questions Mary and Maya had collated. Yes, Ol’ Manitou River would cause disruption, and management of the green lurch would be needed ; yes, I knew about Kennedy and Camelot, but no, I hadn’t figured out what actually having Excalibur would add to my re-run ; and what its full powers were I was still finding out. Often enough q.-and-a. became a round table, with Irpa, Frank, Jeremiah, Warren, governors, Sawyer, and the Man, and it had certainly been different, music flowing behind us and a clear triumph of practicality over party allegiance.

When we’d finally called a halt and the broadcast ended I’d had emotions from Caroline, Penny, and their crews to deal with. They had known of the threat sooner than others, if not explicitly, and with release of tension raw feelings boiled up. They weren’t hostile, but there was anger they didn’t know what to do with, so I’d invited them to Sunday dinner, and Asil distracted them, bless him, by offering to appear on _Living Free and Moonbound_. The Man was staying overnight on Air Force One, awaiting the conference call, but wanted to talk to Asil too, musicians joining us all agog. Asil bore it well, with Anna’s help, and when Samuel and Ariana showed, at the end of his hospital shift, Samuel switched things by borrowing an acoustic guitar and playing very old songs. Some governors and representatives had to leave, others stayed, wondering, so I’d hung on longer than my poor feet liked, singing along when the music drifted into my ken, and living in the complex pleasures of the moment. Coyote had spoken to Dylan about Amerindian blues, and I’d asked the Rhythm Devils about 11/8, and all the musicians about how they’d done the vocals, and why a song called ‘The Eleven’ only counted from eight to three. We spoke Blues with representatives, including the Vicksburg woman, drawing in Adam and Jesse, and it was Jesse’s yawns that let us get out of there, Irpa chauffeuring Frank, Rachel, Jeremiah, and Ros.

Once home there had been the dubious pleasure of a call from Marsilia, still as remote as Leslie said yet simultaneously hyper, demanding to know what I’d really meant vampires had to do. Exactly what I’d said, I told her, but there had been fear in her voice, and none of her unsettling laughs. That she had not believed I could dismiss Bonarata was crystal clear, but she was trying to be practical, so I tolerated as much as I could before telling her to get a good day’s sleep.

“I realise it’s not what you or Wulfe expected, Marsilia, and that you find it sub-optimal, but for vampires _tout court_ it is so much better than it might have been you have no cause to repine. And you know full well, whatever you feel, that every equation is better with _minus Iacopo_ in the terms. What are you doing about the sacrificed vampires?”

<Doing?>

“Un huh. Four of your own, and those six Europeans, were wantonly murdered on global TV. Do you not grieve them? Vamps give up the ghost with Turning, not their souls. Will you not pray for them? Your new country is watching, remember. I’d make contact fast with the theological community at St Louis U., who want to hold a service of blessing in Gateway Park, mostly for Lenka. I’m damned if it’ll commemorate anything about Bonarata, but it could commemorate the ten we’ll say innocent vamps who got dusted by truly obscene tactics. If you really don’t get it, talk to Stefan, and hire some good PR. You can also tell Wulfe we need to talk, and the meet will be at Uncle Mike’s. Goodnight, now.”

Chopping her off was satisfying, but it took Adam some soothing before I dropped off, only to be hauled back by the alarm what felt like immediately but was actually 6:30. The temptation to pull on sweats was as strong as my desire to get back to bed afterwards, but it wouldn’t do so I showered and dressed for church, in a blouse and skirt. Other accessories could wait, but I put on Coyote’s pendant, a welcome splash of colour, and headed down with Adam, Skuffles again joining us on the stairs. Pack breakfast had to wait, but I wasn’t facing world leaders on an empty stomach, so I set about pancake mix. By the time the Man and entourage arrived amid much Secret Service bustling, and turned out not to have eaten yet himself, it was only a moment’s work to set short stacks in front of him and Adam, and pile into my own wishing everything was as simple and satisfying as adding maple syrup. Needing caffeine I had coffee for once, though a lot more latte than flat white, to buffer it.

“Above and beyond, Ms Hauptman, and my good luck you like cooking.”

“Not a problem, sir. I needed food.” I told him about Marsilia’s call. “I don’t know St Louis U. deserves her, but they’re in the redemption business, and a memorial service for sacrificed vamps seems reasonable.”

“Will she do it?”

“Probably.” I drank coffee and grimaced. “You’ll laugh, but I’m used to being freaked out by Marsilia, and now I’m freaked out that I’m freaking her out. It has to be an improvement, but She Freaks The Freaks is not such a good name.”

He did laugh, and so did Adam.

“I dunno, love. It’s a good rep. But I agree Marsilia will probably do it, Mr President. Wulfe or Stefan will have been listening and they’ll see it’s a smart move. Passing on contact info for the senior priest would be good.”

We sent contact data both ways, and as it was theologians I refrained from tagging Marsilia as _Queen of the Damned_ or telling them she’d been Bonarata’s child and mistress. Then it was time, collecting two State Department people, to head for Adam’s office, where Ben dealt with the compound feed from the White House, arraying faces in a dense mosaic that made my eyes ache, before Adam let him out. The lock clunked, Skuffles settled at my side, eyeing the screen dubiously, and the Man stepped up to the plate.

It was as he’d said, disturbed and powerful people finding themselves much more powerless than they cared to be, and wanting a fix that was not available in double-quick time. I kept my temper for all of ten minutes, explaining that magic had limits, as did magic-users, and wanting avatars to search the globe was well beyond them. There were things one could try, but most vamps did not leave the feeding scars Bonarata had on Lenka, and the biggest give-away was a dry-cellar smell they couldn’t conceal that lingered on sheep. Renfields could be sensed at close range by more powerful magic users. And yes, as vampires had successfully concealed themselves for millennia, they were very good at it, though they had the same, growing problem with technology as Fae and wolves — meaning, bottom line, big data, the encroaching digital omniscience of the state that could search for anomalies in biometric and actuarial data, find the financial patterns of seethes and multi-sheep households among the noise, and scan the ubiquity of CCTV for things that defied normal explanations. Then the British oaf of a Prime Minister interrupted.

“Look, Mrs Hauptman, this fancy footwork is all very well for the long term, but we need something faster — quick results to keep people happy, _capice_? And as you created this problem, that’s rather your job, you know, whatever magic it takes, eh?”

My eyes were flickering golden, but I gave the Man a look and he gestured me to speak as I would while chopping silence at a startled State Department face. I took a breath, willing myself calm.

“With all due respect, sir, which just now isn’t very much, if you actually believe you just made sense you’re being what I believe your class of Brit calls a complete duffer. Newsflash, sir — Britain has had resident vampires since they arrived with the Romans. And did you not hear me say there is no simple find-the-vamp magic? Even a fae discovery spell needs a name, and with the Undead that’s no guarantee. There is only the long haul, and you have been given contact details you’ve already used to good effect, so why on earth are you moaning about having to mop up your own country for yourself? Try saying thank you, instead.”

A gesture took in the whole mosaic onscreen.

“And though politer and, I presume, smarter, all of you are in effect asking for a ready-made version of a complex long-term package deal the US is still working out, when you already have the outlines, and further demanding a way to make it work over days rather than decades while not actually having to put your backs into it. So without apology, ladies and gentlemen, get real. If the US has an alliance between kinds it’s because we’re all trying hard to find mutual benefits, and if you want alliance with preternaturals you need to make it in _their_ best interest to be allied with _you_. I know some of you are doing things about that, but others don’t seem to be. And if you just want a means of vamp genocide, then, very politely indeed, go away, because I’m not into crimes against humanity.”

Russia, looking as broody as he always did on TV, said something in Russian and Adam cut in, using his own Russian. Quite a few could obviously follow, including China, and Adam sent images that let me know the question was what would prompt wolves to action against vamps, the answer being multiply contingent — not only the vamp offence, but what action with what consequences. Adam dropped back into English.

“And consequences are very much the point, ladies and gentlemen, because preternaturals take them seriously. Most of our fights are to the death, and while we were hidden our codes were unforgiving, in the name of safety for all. Yes, wolves, like avatars and fae, have a real distaste for vampires, but we have our own ethics, as those of you with serving wolves know. And we have already done a great deal for all of you, without asking or expecting reward. Mercy has done most. You are all better off by an order of magnitude already, and clamouring for more before you’ve tried to meet preternaturals half-way is really not so impressive.”

China politely held up a hand, and spoke in excellent English.

“This I accept, Mr Hauptman, but I find myself in a difficult position.” His eyes met mine. “Ms Hauptman, I heard you say you do not know what kinds of preternaturals there might be in my land, save dragons and spirits of Feng Shui. The problem is that I do not know either, no preternatural kind having come out here, and I am unsure where or how to begin to meet any of it, half-way or otherwise. I would welcome advice.”

“Right. No offence, sir — I’m no kind of expert, and mean none — but I’m guessing Chairman Mao’s thinking didn’t have much room for folklore?”

“No offence in that, and you are right. Peasant superstitions needed to be overcome, with religious indoctrination, and had not then been shown to be more than superstitions. Nor have they yet, though circumstantial evidence has, ah, gone through the roof, I believe you say.”

“We do, sir. But I doubt your many dragon motifs and lore came from nowhere. Is there anything to stop you being frank about it in public? It’s not on the late Chairman he _didn’t_ know about the preternatural, and now you _do_ it must be accommodated — which cannot mean fitted into an orthodoxy devised for the natural. Fundamental new data means time for a rethink, within larger state parameters, but still.”

He nodded cautiously. “If I made such a statement what preternatural consequences might follow?”

“Who knows, sir? May we play twenty questions?”

“By all means, though you may ask what I cannot answer.”

“So noted. I take it you’re familiar with the Fae and binding oaths?”

“Certainly.”

“And you accept binding means for ever? Not subject to expediency, policy change, or anything else? Everything your constitutional oath means with preternatural as well as legal penalties for any oathbreach.”

“I do.”

“Then you’re equipped to deal with any preternaturals you find. I’d try Feng Shui for manitous you ought to have — Yangtze, Yellow, and Amur Basins — and be very prepared to rethink your dam projects. No manitou likes feeling bloated, and Three Rivers has to be a real downer.”

To my surprise he smiled.

“It is for me, I assure you. But I take your point, Ms Hauptman. A magically conveyed offer of something a manitou will want.”

“No, sir, a sincere offer of a deal. If you can make contact, a great manitou won’t out any preternatural kinds living within it, but might be willing to tell them you’d be glad to talk. Call it a diplomatic backchannel. Now, great manitous can look after themselves, so while I have no idea what is and isn’t possible, I will ask Medicine Wolf and Ol’ Manitou River to do whatever they can to alert major river-basin manitous elsewhere to keep an ear cocked, and think about whether they want to come out and deal. I can also ask Thomas Hao to take your call — he’s American, but has contacts. Beyond that, sir, it depends if you have a binding oath to offer me, one you will keep utterly regardless of the result in November, saying you will protect the interests of any preternatural I facilitate contact with, meaning interests as that preternatural defines them, not you.”

I looked at Russia.

“Same question for you, sir, because the answers would overlap. You and China both have equivalents of First People who might know things, but none have any reason to trust Moscow or Beijing further than they can throw them. If you were listening last night, you heard me say the US record on minority rights is appalling, but neither of you have done much better, and both keep up state persecution and killing far more openly. Has it occurred to you any number of preternaturals will have been caught in all that down the decades, from human magic-users — shamans, witches, wizards, geomancers — to wolves, fae, half-fae, vamps, and whatever? It’s not a system I like, but you need to relabel them and their families and communities as _nomenklatura_ , or why would they bother to obey you, let alone be willingly loyal? So, last two things on this, one, do you all realise how much the President has done on this here? How much he risked? Think about where he’d be now if Bonarata had killed me, Adam, and Jesse in Gateway Park, and the kind of faith that took. Think about the fact that he challenged his own party as much as lifelong opponents, and endorsed me although my platform includes constitutional amendments and throwing everyone in the green lurch. And point two, remember the _natural_ in _preternatural_. We are mostly of earth and air, animal kinds and ecosystems, and we _know_ you do not need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, so if you really want to be in touch with preternaturals be prepared to get greener fast and permanently. And while I truly don’t do attack ads, know that if I am elected I will pursue that argument any and every way I can, because kiddos are on the line, period.”

There was a silence before China nodded again.

“You make compelling sense, Ms Hauptman. I am reminded North America’s First People crossed the Bering Strait.”

“That’s the one, sir. Enquiries might be made, but if that’s to happen we’ll need to meet in person, here or there — binding oaths aren’t made by satellite link, but face to face, under the sky. Bread is broken. Preternaturals play by old rules and mean them.” His sense and courtesy eased me, and mischief twined with curiosity. “I’ll offer you this as an earnest, sir — if you can set up a meeting with dragons, and care to send an invitation, I’ll come. I’ve never met one and can’t say I’m not curious.”

After a second he smiled again, quite widely. “I shall hope to hold you to that, Ms Hauptman. And a, let us hope, as we surely may, state visit by US preternaturals would be domestically interesting, to say the least.”

“Something to look forward to, sir. But I’ll say now the scare-away firecrackers thing doesn’t work. Anything immaterial couldn’t care less, and anything with ears just gets a headache.”

His smile became a genuine laugh. “So I have suspected, Ms Hauptman. And I have taken more than enough of your time this morning. Thank you, and I shall hope to issue that invitation in due course.”

He shot a stream of Russian at Russia, which Adam later told me amounted to _don’t mess with us on this, but yes to joint ops if you’ll truly commit_. My eyes drifted across the mosaic, and found Italy.

“Sir, you’ve been silent so far, but may I ask how things are with Bonarata’s seethe, and if the Vatican’s said anything yet?”

I got a very elegant Italian shrug.

“You ask good questions, _signora_.” His English was charmingly accented. “We occupied the seethe but there were no vampires, only catatonic humans they had fed from, all now comatose in hospital unless they have died. There were more hoarded astonishments, data we have managed to decrypt and data we have not. Aid would be appreciated.”

“I don’t see why not, sir. Charles Smith will call when we’re done here.”

“Thank you. As to the Vatican, who knows? They have yet to say a single word, and one hardly dares guess why that might be.”

“Bonarata would not have ignored papal power, however few divisions the pope might have, and by preternatural standards it’s not long since the answer to Stalin’s question was more than one.” I glanced across the mosaic, picking out faces. “The issue is what any religious authority says about vampires, or the preternatural at large. I understand faith is not logical, but I have been purposefully engaging with our religious extremists and trying to drag them into thought on their own terms.”

I flicked oafish Britain a glance.

“You, sir, might note that as an Episcopalian I am far more likely to heed the Archbishop of Canterbury than you, and everybody needs to think about the hit I strongly suspect the Vatican will take, as well as anything the Qur’an may have to say about _djinni_ or other preternaturals. I acknowledge there’s a lot of very dirty history and politics involved, but even so you do _not_ want a religious war against the preternatural, because the preternatural _will_ fight back, and given the Medicine Wolf Accords, and Ol’ Manitou River Accords to come, if preternatural kinds _tout court_ are under threat, any President will be under immense pressure to support them. So if you want advice, head your overly pious off at the pass, with whatever force is needed. I’d plug them into the interfaith interview with Ol’ Manitou River that is being organised — tell them to contact the _Christian Science Monitor_ — and be talking hard to imams, patriarchs, brahmins, whatever, because anything resembling barking bigotry needs … productively stamping on, fast.” I shrugged. “Not easy, I know, but ecology worked on raving Christians, so maybe it’d work for others — not frying your grandchildren has serious transcultural mass appeal. And if _small_ delegations of faith leaders want to meet Medicine Wolf and Ol’ Manitou River, and will swear by whatever most tightly binds them to maintain courtesy no matter what, I can and will arrange that.”

I wanted more breakfast and fewer bigwigs on my plate.

“Long and the short, too few ladies and gentlemen, show sincerely willing and I’ll help as best I can, regardless of November, because I want what’s best for humans and preternaturals alike. A Path of Mercy. But don’t ever forget the Path of Assertion, because they come together or not at all.” One last breath. “Human politics largely work, or have worked, through dishonesty. How do you know if a politician is lying? Lies, damned lies, and statistics. Read my lips. Business as usual. SOP. But most preternaturals hear lies, and preternatural politics are pragmatic because they have an absolute bottom line. Everyone has leeway until they swear but then it’s letter of the oath. Ask Gwyn ap Lugh, the Marrok, Irpa Thorsden, anyone. Prove to have lied and you’re toast, even if you’re an ex-sea-god and sitting Gray Lord. And that’s all I can tell you today. I have pack breakfast to sort, church to attend, and guests due for whom I need to cook, so you’ll have to excuse me. US preternaturals will do their best, and I dare say the Farouts and FBI, to answer sensible questions, but our definitions of sensible are going to be a lot narrower than most of yours.” I looked at Britain. “ _Capice_ , Mr Prime Minister? And farewell, everyone.” I looked at Italy. “If you stay online, sir, I’ll ask Charles in.”

The Man took over to make his own brief farewell, and when only Italy was left both of them grinned at me.

“I _capice_ , Ms Hauptman. May I say that, like the astonishing Signor Moreno, I appreciate your style. And I have been enjoying your campaign, however it has now come very much closer to home.”

The Man laughed. “Oh yeah. And you really do get even when you get mad, don’t you? But let’s get Mr Smith in.”

Italy summoned a cryptography geek, and after a moment Charles summoned Ben, so we left them to it. In the hall the Man gave me a look.

“That puts them all on very interesting notice. Britain’s an idiot, and trouble while he lasts, but now they’re out of Europe they’re not much use to us, saving NATO, so ignore him. You handled China very well, and Russia. I’d forgotten you spoke Russian, Mr Hauptman — that scores big points.”

“He seemed twisty, but also to get it, sir.”

“That’s about right. Gets a bit muscle-bound by his own image, but he’s no kind of stupid.” He checked his watch. “Your service is at 11?”

“Yup. Pack breakfast first, if you want more food, sir.”

“I could nibble, but I was wondering if you’d mind if I came to the service? I need to be in DC this evening, but we should do joint PR and a looming service will keep it short. I’d also like to know what’ll be happening with I84 and the rebirth of Celilo Falls.” He grinned again. “You could call it pack practice for having the president to breakfast.”

As most of the pack, cooking and laying the table, thought that funny we had the president to breakfast, again, and after telling him what I could about June I left him to Jesse’s tender mercies and did some surfing. First interviews with vamps who’d signed up were out, and with the Department of the Mississippi Basin occupied space everywhere, but I was rarely less than co-headlining, PBS image prominent. Asil, also surfing with a wry look, had them not knowing what to say beyond repeating his tale with screamers, but heavyweights had been struck by what one called my ‘bold and utterly unselfish use of extraordinary political capital’. I could, apparently, have done nothing but preen in the spotlight and welcome adulation, stroking Excalibur the while, but had instead set everybody a lifetime of psychosocial repair-work. Besides the mixed metaphors, threatening indigestion, I had to grant the point, though I hadn’t thought it a choice, just doing what needed done. More reassuringly, more than one faith leader had, while declaring shock and theological turmoil, cautioned vampires were within God’s or whoever’s creation, and everyone needed to know a lot more before doing anything hasty. I’d always worried about human reactions, but there hadn’t been anything that could be done — before now. I caught Jesse’s eye.

“You’re doing vamps Wednesday?”

“Like I have a choice, though I want to get other things in.”

“Bring up what faith leaders are saying and push tolerance? I wondered about asking Penny to do a new series — _Living Free and Bloodbound_. Stefan might be willing.”

“Good one, Mom. Perhaps a one-off rather than a series — vamps aren’t so photogenic and furry.” She looked at the Man. “Has there been trouble anywhere here, sir?”

“Not that I’ve been told, Miss Hauptman, but police are on all seethes as deterrents. And as vampires don’t seem to get PR, anything you can do to, ah, tide them over until they get their act together would be welcome.” He shook his head. “I meant every word I said yesterday, you know. Maybe I should give the whole family a medal. The British gave one to Malta.”

“Oh hush, sir. We need to go to church.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

Media restraint about numbers had not held with international media present in force, but arriving by unexpected presidential motorcade meant Secret Service and PD numbers kept everything orderly. I introduced the Man to a flustered Reverend Jenkins, before Adam, Jesse, Skuffles, and I went with him to appease the PR machine. He was in bullish mood, and gave reporters a predatory smile.

“Good morning, everyone. As you’re aware, vampire matters remain calm and under control in the US, and are quieting globally. And as you’re not yet aware, I just facilitated a meeting between Ms Hauptman and fifty-three heads of government, including Russia and China, to give them some perspective on how to create a Path of Mercy, and the way those come with a Path of Assertion. It went very well, they were all impressed and grateful, and the US is providing technical assistance. Before you ask, I’ll say loud and clear that while I am here on necessary business, and for Ms Hauptman, who is going to be a spectacularly good president, I have other reasons. Frankly, after the last two days I didn’t want to miss service today, so it makes sense to worship here. I am also very pleased to visit the congregation that has so generously and helpfully welcomed the Freed Pack, despite all the denominational complications. SAC Fisher keeps me posted on how they’re doing, and their well-being here is very heartening. And though it is no kind of mitigation, it assuages federal guilt for what happened, a little. Finally, I don’t often get to say this, but I’ll bet it isn’t me you want to question, and Ms Hauptman’s waiting. You’ve got five minutes.”

I gave him a fisheye but pointed with Manannán’s Bane to the first pool person and set about answering bemused reporters succinctly.

“Uh … you’re not wearing Excalibur, Ms Hauptman.”

“Nope. Wearing a broadsword to church seems gauche, and though we still have a lot of talking to do I think it doesn’t care much for the way Malory and others sacramentalised it, so I’d watch that. Next.”

“Er … how did you find meeting foreign leaders, Ms Hauptman?”

“Interesting, and in some cases revealing. It was mostly about what magic can and can’t do, and what needs old-fashioned legwork. Religious responses to vampires came up, with the need to get past kneejerk reactions to otherness. Next.”

“Um … how is Skuffles?”

_I’m good, thank you, ma’am. No lingering ill effects from Bonarata’s dust. And it is a great relief not to have to skulk out of sight all the time, however I was happy to do so and it paid off handsomely. Next._

“Ah … no offence, but you look thinner, Ms Hauptman. Are you alright?”

“Un huh. Friday’s magic burned a _lot_ of calories, ma’am, and though I’ve been eating high-protein it’ll take a while. Bear’s kindly promised to feed me up too. Thanks for noticing. Next.”

“Is Miss Hauptman taking questions?”

The accent was Canadian, and I gave him points. “Are you, Jesse?”

“Sure, Mom. What’s your question, sir?”

“You are setting a remarkable example, Miss Hauptman. What advice do you have for children in other nations who can’t influence votes here?”

“Thanks for the compliment, sir, and children everywhere should push every way they can for green policies, tolerance, and human–preternatural co-operation. We either get deadly serious together about the green, right now, or we get dead. I’m betting dead is a lot less fun than a bit crimped for profit in the short term. Next.”

“Why did you want those particular songs yesterday, Ms Hauptman?”

“I like them and dancing to 11/8 time. It’s fun. Try it. Next.”

“You are very calm, Ms Hauptman. How are you coping?”

“As I can and must, sir. Understand I have known about vampires since I could walk, and lived with threats on all sides since I left home at eighteen. Fussing doesn’t help, so I try not to bother. And as I did think we could take Bonarata, in concert, a chunk of backbrain is pleased to be proven right. Lenka Yakovlevna and the braided ghosts haunt me, as they ought to haunt anyone with sense. How are _you_ coping, sir?”

To his credit he answered directly.

“Badly, Ms Hauptman. Haunting is right.”

“Oh yeah. There’s talk of a service at Gateway Park, for Lenka and the vampires so wantonly sacrificed by their own. I don’t think anything’s been decided, but you might find that therapeutic. Next.”

“Um … what are you going to do differently next, Ms Hauptman?”

“Go to church with the President. Longer term, wait and see. Several things will happen next week. And that’s it, as Reverend Jenkins doesn’t appreciate lateness”

Recrossing the parking lot the Man was suppressing a grin as he waved to crowds beyond police barriers.

“Actually answering reporters’ questions throws them so nicely.” He gave me a sideways look. “ _And in some cases revealing_? You thought Britain was sensible before today?”

I grinned. “Not so much, in so far as I thought about him at all, sir. I meant China’s laugh. But we’re about to make someone’s day.”

An absolutely beaming Mrs Wright was offered a presidential arm to climb the steps, while I gave Mr Wright mine.

“I’m afraid I’ve probably messed up poor Reverend Jenkins’s sermon again, Mr Wright, Mrs Wright. I wonder what we’ll get this week.”

He smiled and she laughed.

“You do keep us all on our toes, dear. Perhaps you could share the sermon again.”

“Or not. I’ve done quite enough public speaking for one week.”

“You _shared_ a sermon, Ms Hauptman?”

“It was more of a twofer, Mr President.” Mr Wright patted my arm. “The good reverend got a little excitable about Isaiah last week, and the good lady here set us all straight.”

“She has a habit of doing that, sir, luckily for us.”

We arrived at the top of the steps, and arms were disengaged.

“So she does, Mr President, and so it is. Thank you for your courtesy to my wife — we’re not so steady on our feet these days. And thank you Ms Hauptman, not only for your kind arm.”

He gave us nods and escorted his wife past a smiling David and JJ.

“What a charming couple.”

“Aren’t they? They have a large lumberjack grandson whom Ramona and I abash, much to Mrs Wright’s amusement.”

“And mine.” The Man held out a hand. “Mr Christiansen. Thank you for your response to Director Wiseman. It all seems to be working out so far, but experienced help is very welcome.”

“You’re welcome, Mr President. No problem, but rescues have priority.”

“Of course.”

We went in, and the congregation greeted us with applause, which the Man dealt with by smiling, using his volume slider, and thanking them for making another stranger welcome before we sat with as much of a don’t-mind-us-and-do-carry-on air as we could manage. Ramona was biting her cheek, and Reverend Jenkins giving me a fisheye, so I smiled sweetly. Besides formal welcome to the Man, Reverend Jenkins managed to keep it normal until she had to mount the pulpit, and sighed.

“I should not be repeating my mistake and trying another extempore sermon, but you do go on making theological revelations, Ms Hauptman, that it seems a solemn duty to confront. But where on earth should I start? Ol’ Manitou River? Ghosts? Vampires? Ghosts braided inside vampires? Excalibur? Or what Mr Moreno, who staggers me, as he must all, called grace, rightly as it seemed when I heard him? About all I know is I don’t know anything like enough about any of it to say anything sensible, so I should stay quiet. And yet here I am, duty-bound, and with our highest civilian authority listening. Oh well. I’m reminded of that old saying among soldiers, that if I can’t take a joke I shouldn’t have joined.”

There was murmured laughter, including Adam’s.

“And that’s the one thing I might have managed to wrap my poor aching head round in the last two days, because Friday started with a heart-stopping joke in the name Ol’ Manitou River and the way the Mississippi just stopped rolling along for a second, and it wasn’t the only one. Vacuum cleaners dropped into the mantle, done and dusted, Mr Hao effortlessly revealing that senator’s pure foolishness, and that amazing, absurdly truthful poster.” She looked at me. “Ms Hauptman, I knew you had slain a monster but had not envisioned what that truly meant, and I salute your courage.” She went back to surveying everyone. “So, there has been laughter, and we cannot doubt the humour is deliberate. But it has been among events devoid of humour and, one would think, of its possibility — though I am reminded that in mediaeval plays showing the life of Christ harrowing hell is presented humorously, drunken devils fleeing as Our Lord kicks open the gates with sandaled feet and enters in. But I can’t say I’m laughing at all where Mr Bonarata or Ms Yakovlevna are concerned. So is humour just leavening, a little salt? Or the kind those under great stress use to relieve tension?”

She shrugged.

“Both, probably, but also another lesson, I suspect. Ms Hauptman has pointed out before that with the unhappy exception of the Book of Job Christianity does not comprehend within its account of the divine anything resembling the joker in other pantheons — the Norse Loki, Yoruba Anansi, Crow, or our own rascal Coyote.” I grinned. “And fair enough — we’re hardly obliged. But even very serious Christians didn’t always think God and laughter were at odds, let alone incompatible. The poet John Donne, once Dean of St Paul’s Cathedral in London, punned on his own name and his wife’s maiden name in a poem full of sinner’s anguish, and his friend and colleague George Herbert made poems in the shape of an altar and what he called Easter-wings, prayers to be lifted up into God’s glory. But somewhere along the way we let ourselves become too staid-and-stuffy, too certain worship must be gravely earnest as well as sincere. And the one thought I had after hearing Mr Moreno was that those moments when despite everything laughter called to us were … I’ll say epiphenomena of the grace he saw. We saw. I shan’t say more, but I ask you all to wonder about the ways in which laughter might be a sign or form of grace, as I shall, and I’ll revisit it when I have something to report.”

That was unexpected and welcome, and the Reverend became brisker.

“One thing I can address with more confidence is the desire of some congregants for the Church to take a stronger position supporting SAGE. I’ve spoken at length to the Bishop in Spokane, and he with others, and the problem is conflicting imperatives. As Christians we must be concerned by the epidemic of murder in our society, and fight it as we fight all sin. Supporting sensible gun control is, however, political, and in this nation there is strict separation of church and state, so it is not felt appropriate for the Church officially to express a view on SAGE. Yet the Church cannot in conscience oppose any initiative with a clear purpose to tackle that epidemic of murder, and is happy to facilitate independent activities by congregants in its support. So in practice, any organising about SAGE any of you want to do can use church facilities for meetings and the like, and I’d be a willing participant, as I will continue to visit our unhealthy relations with guns and all violence in sermons. But the Church cannot offer any formal preference for SAGE over the NRA, however most of us find it a simple decision.” She shrugged. “It’s a classic Episcopalian compromise, but as a broad church that’s what we do, and though we mostly agree about this one, it’s still over the political line.”

I had expected it, but she wasn’t done, and sighed again, looking at me.

“I’m sorry, but I feel I have to go there, Ms Hauptman, because welcome as SAGE may be, you have also been consistently clear attempted murder will be met with lethal force, and we have been viscerally reminded of what that means. And I owe you an apology. Friday night you spoke with unforgettable passion of a … I won’t say clear conscience, but a robust conscience, and I can’t say I don’t understand. But I am very conscious I spent a lot of yesterday telling myself you were busy as an excuse not to offer the pastoral care I should have. So I’m sorry — and it’s not the first time I’ve failed to offer you spiritual solace when it might be needed. I did the same last year, when you faced Cantrip and Manannán mac Lír. Never having killed myself, I have no idea what to say, so I ducked it. And that won’t do, if only because when I can think about it at all I know I am deeply relieved Mr Bonarata is truly dead, and those ghosts freed to go on. Such awful malevolence! But I still don’t know what to say, except thank you, and to pray for your safety and well-being.”

Stifling a curse I hauled myself to my feet, and gave everyone time to turn in their pews.

“No, thank _you_ , Reverend. Your kind of honesty is rare, but beating up on yourself doesn’t work so well. And it’s not on you, or anyone but Bonarata and those dismissed with him. And uncomfortable as it is for me to say so on consecrated ground, being coyote I am in my nature a predator, and predators kill. So while I am haunted by pity I am not racked by guilt, and neither should you be. You’re not a predator, just a good human being, and I’m very happy you have never faced the need to kill. I pray you never will. But it is not an undue burden for me, and the only thing I’m minded to say about that is predators are comprehended by God’s creation, and I believe in Salvation by Works as well as Grace.”

As I sat again the Man spoke without rising.

“Presidents need to be predators too, ma’am, in some measure. I’ll shortly be signing a law to make dismissal of a vampire murder, if it isn’t justifiable homicide or legal execution, but I signed off on those deaths in Gateway Park, and so did the FBI and St Louis PD. And I tell you all straight, any harm to any Hauptman would have been a lot nearer my conscience than what happened. I think we — Ms Hauptman, mostly — saved a lot of lives and unlives, in this nation and elsewhere, so for all the haunting I’m not repining. Sometimes having the right beings die, for a moral value of right, is the best deal anyone can get.”

There was a silence before the Reverend nodded.

“Noted, sir. And thank you both. I suppose I don’t care to contemplate the price good has to pay in vanquishing evil, but that’s not very Christian of me either, is it? So perhaps I should take my own advice about humour, and conclude the Lord has indeed had mercy upon us, not least in ending some unimaginable suffering. Now let us pray.”

Reverend Jenkins being Reverend Jenkins she asked mercy for Bonarata’s soul as well as those of all the dead, and all who had necessarily taken life or unlife, and if I had mixed feelings I didn’t much care what mercy God might extend to anyone who wasn’t my problem any more. Death pays all debts. Thereafter the liturgy went as it should, and once we were done the Man’s respectful but cheery greetings to the Freed drew congregants in. I was amused to hear Mr Wright farewell him.

“A twofer last week, Mr President, and a threefer this. Thank you. You’ve restored some faith, as Ms Hauptman has. Be safe, now.”

The lift carried me over comforting an emotional Reverend Jenkins, helped by blunt soldiers’ wisdom from Adam and David, and unyielding severity from Ramona, who in a way at once simple and very twisted shared my outrage about the Wyoming vamps.

“You know what I give thanks for, Reverend? That Cantrip suborned a wolf, not a vamp, and that the Marrok, however a man and so frequently an idiot, is no sort of Bonarata, or I and mine would all be long dead, twice over, for the crime of being kidnapped by irresistible force. I never stopped believing in God, and I’ve never had to kill a human, but I did learn not all Commandments are so absolute, however they need to be phrased that way. When a devil attacks you, turning the other cheek doesn’t work so well, so in my book thou shalt do whatever thou must to survive and vanquish evil. St Michael had that fiery sword for a reason, and so did Mercy.” She gave a wry smile. “Having been raised Catholic I’m more into self-flagellation than Mercy, and approve yours, but only in principle. Yeah, you could have offered but it would have been form, as much burden as use to her, so you had reason to refrain. Adam’s on the job anyway.”

I wasn’t sure Reverend Jenkins quite parsed all that but let it go, welcoming belated concern for Jesse, which she handled smoothly. The Man needed to head to DC, and after we’d shaken held my hand a moment.

“I doubt I’ve taken half of it in, Ms Hauptman, because you do things with more layers than I can count, but I am truly grateful for Bonarata and his ghastly crew, and Ol’ Manitou River. Don’t forget to feel proud as all get out, because you should.”

“Thank you, sir. And I do, with a little sideways. When I asked for ‘The Eleven’ I was thinking of the cover of _Live/Dead_ too.”

His eyes narrowed. “Damn. A … what? Goddess? Over an empty coffin.”

“Goddess? Nah. But a magic-user and a woman, and as she’s neither skeleton nor ghost I never thought the coffin hers.”

“Huh. Something to occupy me in flight, assuming State don’t take up every waking minute. And you should feel proud too, Miss Hauptman, Mr Hauptman. I’ll see you all at the conferences or Celilo Falls, unless something else happens meantime. What are the odds? Go safe.”

Once the Man’s motorcade departed, taking all but our own Secret Service squad and a chunk of Kennewick PD, we escaped. In the car I grumbled about going to church to be comforted and preached at, not vice versa, but Reverend Jenkins was only having problems because she was being conscientious while as shocked as most humans, and there were others in the congregation who did know what it was to kill — we had cops as well as vets, and some had let me know they’d felt the ironies, which was soothing. So was the prospect of cooking, and once a cold if generous lunch had been eaten, I got on with it before anyone could interrupt.

I had to field calls while I worked, Bran wanting to check on Asil, who reassured him ; Frank wanting to talk about yesterday a little and round tables a lot, with me and Asil ; and a cautious Clay, pleased to find me available, to let me know about his call from the St Louis PD captain — mostly, he said, a fanclub meeting. Letting him pass his phone to Sally while Jesse took mine tied it up nicely while I finished trussing a venison haunch with juniper and horseradish, wrestled it into the oven, and set about vegetables. Potatoes would provide necessary bulk, and I recruited people to peel, Anna and Jesse pitching in with greens. When Zee called, pleased by my refusals to draw Excalibur without true cause, I booked a conversation about its magics as soon as maybe, and passed him to Jill for respectful discussion of grill designs that pleased both. Less cheerfully, Jenny called to say she’d been given a heads-up Senator Stupid was intending to file suit against me as well as Hao, claiming conspiracy and who knew what. She wasn’t concerned, if glad Hao wasn’t a client, but wary of obstruction that was the real intent. Legal expedition was the Man’s province, so I emailed, receiving a swift reply, and left Jenny happier.

I made a call myself, and Medicine Wolf dropped by to read me so far as Chinese and other manitous were concerned. It had direct contact only with neighbours, wandering manitous like Guayota were unreliable, and there wasn’t any kind of transoceanic manitou bulletin-board, but it had no objections to passing my request upwards and would talk to Ol’ Manitou River about a countersignature.

_Contact across the Bering Strait might be possible, Mercy. I will talk to the spirits. They were happy on Friday, and happier yesterday, so they may oblige. Many ghosts also heard you, so you might ask them also._

I took that under advisement, and left a voicemail for Hao with a heads-up about the Senator before asking if he minded me giving his number to the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the PRC, offering a brief explanation with my advice to Marsilia, and spent happy seconds imagining his face when he heard it. That tickled memory, and after collecting Adam and guards we headed to the gate, ignoring surprised reporters, and went to the Andrews’ house. Sending the fruitcake had been wise, and although Mr Andrews said he understood why we hadn’t been forthcoming he appreciated formal apology for having misled a neighbour. He also had sharp questions about the local seethe, which we answered, and Adam had bought him a Glock and wooden rounds.

“We don’t have anti-vamp shotgun shells, Mr Andrews, because only a heart-shot works, so I’ve taken the liberty of asking the FBI to register this Glock in your name. Your license is good for it in the house, though not concealed carry. I can ask them to change that, if you’d like.”

The old man turned the gun in his hands, then a wooden round.

“You said these were _grown_ for you, Mr Hauptman?”

“For us, Mr Andrews, yes. Mercy tells me the wood’s stonethorn and the softer outer layer’s so it doesn’t jam in the rifling.”

“Huh. But this sort of pistol isn’t cheap. I don’t see you got any obligation to pick up that tab for me.”

“It would be our pleasure, Mr Andrews.” I spoke carefully. “And Adam didn’t pay retail price. We needed the plastic-and-polymer design because most fae can’t hold iron, so we’ve given Glock a fair bit of business.”

“I bet. Still sits wrong — neighbourliness don’t have a price.”

“No it doesn’t, Mr Andrews, but we won’t miss the Glock or rounds, and though we hope you’ll never need them we thought you and Mrs Andrews might rest easier knowing you have them.” I noticed something through their windows, and kicked myself. “And there was something else, because as you know we have a garden staff and not enough for them to do.”

After a moment, Mrs Andrews spoke, blushing a little.

“I can’t quite manage the garden as I used to, dear, it’s true. And Sam has a harder time with the mower than he did — pushing it just catches his back wrong. But we should pay for any service.”

“Surely, but with earth fae that means leaving out milk and cookies. They’re slowly learning what to do with money, but it has no intrinsic appeal. I expect you’ve heard me say they dine with us Sundays? My table’s full today and I can smell the joint you’re cooking, but if you’d like to come next Sunday you could meet Nuthatch and Pirandella, the senior brownie and pixie, and talk over garden help you’d be glad to receive and cookies they’d be glad to find on your porch. They’re neighbours too.”

Neighbourliness outweighed caution and an embarrassment I didn’t understand, and asked Adam about once we were back inside our gates.

“Not sure, but I’d guess it’s a future president looking after them.”

I filed that to think about, and threw myself into cooking. By the time Penny, Dwayne, and Don turned up with Caroline, Al, and Vince, supper was under control and gingerbread cooling, so I joined them around the table. They were all a little uneasy, emotions still raw with shock, and as first beers became seconds I decided it needed broaching.

“It’s alright to be angry with me. I put you at risk and wouldn’t disclose details, however I didn’t have much choice. And with the way it worked out you all have some trauma. You were closest to the epicentre, so you might also have some … lingering nerve-jangle, maybe, from proximity to magic. I pulled hard on Underhill and other magics kicked in.”

Dwayne shook his head. “I’m not angry with you, Mercy, just shocked silly. You told us what you could and we knew there was risk, if not why. Angry with Bonarata, maybe, for having existed, but that’s foolish.”

“Not so much. Vampirism is parasitical, and parasites are an affront.”

“You could say.” Dwayne sighed. “But it doesn’t get me anywhere. And I’m still trying to digest your concern with the money PBS has taken. I mentioned it to their lawyer, and he became a lot more generous. You’re better than any Union rep.”

“It shouldn’t take my name, Dwayne, and I have a card you can play direct. I was thinking you should do a documentary, if I can wangle it with Stefan — _Living Free and Bloodbound_. And there’s no reason you three couldn’t make it independently and offer them first refusal.”

That livened things up, and Caroline’s embarrassment at her fees for hunt photographs, which she’d shared with Al and Vince, opened up the real issue, the tangle of work, politics, self-interest, and radically destabilising crusade I’d become. Feeling embedded involved a sense of being professionally crimped, despite my not asking them to do anything they wouldn’t anyway. Shock had brought it to a head, and they got into it among themselves until Jesse coughed.

“What do I know, but it sounds like you’re chasing your tails. Remember the pic of Mom I took the first day of the Accords? On the stool there, beer in hand? Well, should I have made enough money to pay my college tuition ten times over by snapping Mom when she was letting worries drift away? By some lights, no — but she was looking good, I wanted the image, and once we had it, why not? You’re all doing amazing jobs in difficult circumstances, so if hazard pay falls into your laps, why fret? Same goes for the politics — you aren’t giving Mom any kind of pass, and when we were setting up the intranet you were all pleased with pushing a big green and tolerant agenda any which way. Has that changed? Then what’s the problem? And why are vamps any more than a side issue, now resolved?”

That left them scratching collective heads, and Asil laughed.

“Anyone who can endure all Jesse has and call vampires a _side issue, now resolved_ has to command one’s attention. And we should talk about what you wish to do with me on _Living Free and Moonbound_ , Ms Ligatt. With my inner calm since Medicine Wolf healed me, I have a special concern with those newly cursed to live as wolves.”

The idea of Asil being _healed_ rather than omega’d struck me hard, but a glance at Charles told me the conversation should be with them. Vegetables needed cooking, and while I was about it earth fae turned up, hesitant at less familiar presences but happier helping to set the table. Pirandella and Nuthatch drifted over.

“Problem?”

Pirandella spoke quietly. “We wish to say how glad we are you vanquished the Master of the Undead, and be certain you have taken no harm doing so. You have lost weight.”

“Letting slow time run through me burned a lot of energy, but I’m good. And I’ve been meaning to ask you to let the Freed’s earth fae know their dwellings and tunnel have retrospective permission.”

“We will tell them.” Nuthatch laid a hand on my arm. “You are truly well? Underhill buzzes with tales of black witchcraft that smirched Excalibur, and of your duckpond and geas laid on the Gray Lords.”

“I expect it does, Nuthatch. The Dark Smith cleansed Excalibur of all stain, and by Gwyn ap Lugh’s word saw the very last of She of Livorno dissolved and burned. All may admire the Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility. In due course it will be a safe place for Excalibur. The geas is no-one’s business save mine, the Gray Lords’, and Underhill’s but know that all outbalances all.”

I got soulful looks.

“Yet it is said a debt was admitted, Mercedes Elf-friend.”

“It was, Pirandella, and settled with the geas. Perhaps you might say I have been teaching Gray Lords what it means to be an Elf-friend. However all fae are bound in their natures to strict dealing, if they _have_ friends they _are_ friends, and friends do not scruple over every last drachm of balance. I promise all is well, and nothing imperils _our_ friendship.”

This time I got intense scrutiny, followed by a bow and curtsey.

“Truly, then, all honour to you, Mercedes Elf-friend. The oldest magics gather under your hand, and we rejoice it is so.”

They wouldn’t say more, and I was left wondering but not, I found, disturbed. Their thinking was one of the mysteries, but lesser fae had rarely been high on any Gray Lord’s agenda, and I understood both had been worried by resentments some Gray Lords had been left with. Once food was served, Adam and Charles carving haunches and many hands helping with vegetables, all earth fae gave bows or curtseys and raised their glasses of water.

“Mercedes Elf-friend, we honour your great deeds this week, Overhill and Underhill, and gladly rejoice in them.”

I found myself blushing. “It was a joint effort.”

“You did a great deed Underhill as well, Mercy?”

Vince’s eyebrows were high, and I waved a hand.

“Excalibur and my cloak did, Vince. Not human business.”

“And you had nothing to do with it? Right.” He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, Mercy, and I’m not angry with you, or anyone so far as I can tell, but my world got rocked hard so I am running a little scared. And no offence, but one thing is you got scarier. I’m sorta used to you having seven-league boots, and I know this isn’t really true, but it was like you dropped your glamour for a few seconds, as much as Irpa, and turned out to be way bigger than we knew.”

I blinked, but Asil laughed.

“That is true power, _amigo_. The Marrok is not a tall or heavy man, but he can seem as large as the sky and as weighty as mountains.”

“Huh. Maybe, Vince. I had a lot of power running through me that wasn’t mine.”

“It was yours to wield, _mi princesa_. And you are indeed about twenty feet high in Times Square, not wrongly.”

“Tcha.” I flapped a hand, earning a grin. “And it wasn’t dominoes I was lining up, Asil. It was ducks, and the trick is persuading them to sit, and stay sat. That’s another reason the duckpond played in.”

There was silence, before Charles gave me a very brotherly look.

“You think Bonarata was a sitting vampire duck, little sister?”

Skuffles yipped amusement and I closed my eyes for a moment.

“You could say, Charles, but I’d rather you didn’t. I do not want to think about bloodsucking ducks, and nor should anyone.”

“Oh I dunno, love.” Adam grinned at me. “It makes me think of politicians and you sure have them lined up.”

“ _Et tu, Brute_ ?”

“Think about this morning. Their power, collectively, is enormous, but you Alpha’d them all the same.”

“The world leaders?” Caroline looked between me and Adam. “Huh. Anything you can say off-record?”

“Sorry, but no.” I shrugged. “Classified.”

Adam waggled a hand. “Pretty much, Caroline, but I meant what I said. Power spoke truth to power and made it stick. Which reminds me — Charles, did you and Ben have any luck?”

“Not immediately.” He looked at Caroline and Penny. “The Italians grabbed more vamp data under encryption.”

Penny nodded. “I heard the President say the US was giving technical assistance. You’re it?”

Anna laughed. “One small part, Penny. Many security satellites are busy. Charles just likes hacking things, as do Baba Yaga and the CIA.”

“Only when it is my patriotic duty.” Charles kept a poker face as he laid one large hand delicately over his heart. “And I do not hack. I merely investigate security failures.”

“Classic!” Jesse pulled out her phone to make a note, Anna laughed, and Charles struggled to hold his stony demeanour. “You should do deadpan more often, Uncle Charles.”

His face was a picture even before Skuffles and I lost it and dissolved into coyote giggles, leaving Jesse the field.

“What everyone’s forgetting is that Mom’s vengeance is legend. Ducks, dominoes, whatever — what matters is Bonarata made it personal, and that was the last mistake he’ll ever make because he not only got done and dusted on global TV, he got vacuumed. Bloodsucker to dust-sucker as sea god to duckpond. Go figure. And you pretty much won the election at the same time, Mom.”

“Un huh, Jesse. No-one does that until November.”

“Right. Except check your website — registration went into overdrive again Friday, so assuming they all mean their ten bucks you have a popular majority for any turnout up to 64%, and the last time it was above that was 1908. So I hear you about assumptions, but I’m still thinking that after I graduate a local commute to Georgetown for their Foreign Service programme sounds good. I should talk to Frank — there ought to be an Others 201, and they’d be the place for that.”

The silence was broken by a long sigh of pleasure from Asil.

“So they would, _querida_. Another fine idea. It has been _so_ long since I’ve looked forward to the next hundred years.”


	57. III : Masses and Mountains -- Chapter 57

**III : Masses and Mountains**

_12 th May – 20th January_

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

CAMPAIGNING as a runaway favourite is wearing, as it mostly consists of massed reporters following you everywhere in the hope you’ll fall on your ass. Or, in my case, do some photogenic magic or kill something. I didn’t have any more big points to make, but there was plenty of room for details, and we had five weeks before I84 was re-routed, six to the re-emergence of Celilo Falls, so it was time to tour reservations. With more than three hundred nationwide, obliging everyone was out, and some are way small while the Navajo have about sixteen million acres, but I could circle the land. I started with the Yakama, and as everyone decided the election pow-wow marked the real start of the Celilo Falls countdown a fine time was had by all. Amid dancing and gossiping Bear cooked as promised for Jill and me, other avatars were eased into greater publicity, and Jesse’s name confirmed as She Steps Sideways Too, to her pleasure and that of the _Saskatchewan Sage_ , while Warren became Long Wolf, which tickled Kyle for reasons no-one asked about. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what had been in the incredibly rich stew Bear served, but if I’d felt calories depart I surely felt them return, and it left me raring to go, once I could move again.

Over a fortnight Skuffles and I traced a long zig-zag down the Rockies to the Navajo, and if there was soft-spoken wariness of anyone wearing Thunderbird’s feather, the cloak, Excalibur, and Carnwennan, there was also burgeoning hope. Registration was up everywhere, and Coyote kept the nation amused with posters — we unveiled a new one each day, in the appropriate language plus English and Spanish, and as predicted the press made unveilings a regular national news item. The Yakama got the _What she said_ picture, which caught me swallowing a grin, eyes alight, and I have to say state representatives took it in good part, quite a few taking the chance to endorse me. Tolerance and practicality adding up to hope made an appearance in many languages, as did my being from Planet B, which was fine, but so did one I was far more dubious about, Andrea and Jesse overruling me — Dwayne’s shot of me wielding Excalibur under the Arch, cloak flaring with Carnwennan visible, and the legend I’M ALL FOR OPENNESS BUT I DO CLOAK-AND-DAGGER TOO. It pushed zapping Bonarata firmly back in play, not that it had ever left, and though I’d been right it troubled some people, Jesse and Andrea were also right, because the joke weirdly reassured by reminding people I kept necessary secrets just fine, however I’d declassified plenty of others.

Demand for poster and postcard versions developed, which wound up more than paying for them and made my preening Da insufferable for a while with modest observations about the crying need for political advertising Oscars. Then again, he was making pretty good jokes while wrangling First People as only an Elder Spirit can, so I could put up with some strutting. It also provided lighter material for my emails to the registered, disseminating some history about each tribe and reservation, as well as slate updates and details about core policies.

When the tour brought us to New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma, bison territory, I made a point of introducing Manannán’s Bane to what small herds there were. Ap Lugh had no objection to my telling everyone its first power had been healthy twin lambs, and the possibility of increasing the percentage of twin bison caught imaginations. History round tables were running to very large audiences on both radio and TV, and when Frank did the real tale of the buffalo slaughter, with context from an older Anglo professor as well as Warren, Jill, and an avatar of Snake’s who went by Joey Diamond and admitted to being older than anyone else there except Jill, there was unhappy national shock. It wasn’t that most people hadn’t known, but being dragged through cold policy and its execution, with photos of corpse-strewn plains and grinning executioners, made the mechanics of attempted genocide horribly apparent.

The idea of multicultural Buffalo Rangers began to become popular, and the Department of the Mississippi Basin was happy about that. If it took advantage of crowds to run an excellent information tent, and make sure First People understood there were real salaries available for real work cleaning up the Basin, that was Feds being efficient — and I returned the favour by setting up meetings with landowners and others to talk migration routes. Many were instinctively conservative, scared of change, and there were questions about fencing, road and river crossings, and wider land management, but Elder Spirits and Ol’ Manitou River could ease worries and solve problems. Ranchers knew demand for beef was falling and saw a lifeline, while reforestation of marginal land appealed to outdoorsmen, so there was a sense of progress that fuelled being upbeat. More practically, we added clean-up of local pollution to each stop, wolf strength shifting rusted cars or machinery, or just picking up windblown litter, usually plastic. It involved everyone, making them look around with seeing eyes and active hands, and if it was the barest start, the sheer volume of plastic crap rolling and floating about made its own point. I was pushing local clean-ups in emails, and Jesse on social media, so litter-gathering became a common activity.

Coyote backed us with a performance on _Saturday Night Live_ so exuberant they just rolled with his informative satire, shapeshifting, and deadpan snark. He got in a bunch of gruesome facts about what plastic pollution did to animals, leavening it with a long shtick on Anglos trying to make snake oil by pressing snakes when everyone knew you had to milk them. That went viral, and so did something he hadn’t bothered to warn me about, though my Mom and sisters had — because they and Curt were in the audience, and when he got them to join him on camera there was wild applause. What followed wasn’t as excruciating as it might have been, and everyone learned more about Coyote being Joe, but not vice-versa, with Mom having taken my advice to think of the reborn Coyote as her sometime would-have-been father-in-law. My illegitimacy had been raised by scandal sites, with innuendo about why Mom let me be adopted, but she was forthright about the place she’d been, a _de facto_ widowed teenage single mother with a mixed-race daughter who went coyote, and she’d never been out of touch, visiting when she could and the Marrok allowed. She’d been upfront from the getgo with Curt, so I’d known Nan and Ruthie since each had been a few days old, while Coyote charmingly pleaded reincarnation-disorientation and the many difficulties that came with returning from the dead, adding that he had kept an eye on each of us. Then my sisters told stories about their cool coyote big sister, including the lost kitten I’d found by going four-legged and using my nose, bringing it back by the scruff of its neck, scared silly but safe, and fixing Curt’s station-wagon for free when the clutch went.

“There’s a big reason her name is She Doesn’t _Only_ Fix Cars, but she does that too.” Coyote grinned. “Come a time when the White House staff can’t find her to greet a foreign dignitary or whatever, they should look in the motor pool. She’ll want to keep her hand in.”

That produced a spate of interview requests from auto magazines, and discovering I really did know a carburettor from a cylinder gasket sharply increased proletarian Anglo support. One thing many First People have is old and usually under-serviced trucks or pickups, so though it bored Skuffles and meant trousers and taking off cloak and Excalibur I added free check-ups to my routine, enjoying the shock and working on elderly vehicles.

Inevitably, someone did try to handle Excalibur while Brent stood over it, sneaking a hand out from behind, and a shriek brought me from under an old Chevy to find the idiot had burned fingers from the hilt while a thorny tendril from the cloak had drawn blood gripping his wrist and Skuffles had bared teeth a few inches from his head. He was white with shock and fright, and I sat up cross-legged on the creeper.

“I’ve been wondering when someone would be stupid enough to try.” I gestured the nearest camera to zoom in. “Please note, everyone, that attempting to steal self-aware fae artefacts is _not_ a good idea.”

“I wasn’t trying to steal it! I just wanted to see.”

“That makes exactly no odds whatever to either Excalibur or my cloak, sir. You have no right to lay hands on either.”

“It hurts! Make it let go.”

“Not my decision, sir. Under the Medicine Wolf Accords, contact with a fae artefact is equivalent to addressing full-blooded fae, and leaves you liable to Excalibur’s and my cloak’s judgement. I doubt Excalibur thinks you’re worth executing, and burned fingers are sufficient. My cloak, though, shares my outrage. And, unhappily for you, my sense of humour.”

There were indrawn breaths as I rolled forward to pick up Excalibur and rest it across my knees, stroking Ceulydd. I was never going to be a real swordswoman but I’d done enough practice that we’d learned one another’s ways, a little, while a long conversation with Zee had clarified some things nicely and others not at all. Like me, Excalibur could acquire magics, and beyond the many things Zee had forged into the blade it had over the centuries done a fair amount of what I had to call pilfering. Traces of Merlin were there, harnessed to resisting water, with a swirling luck that had apparently attended King Arthur, and more recently pack keep-away magic had been added, meaning it could hide itself. There was also the power I’d sensed that smelled of my cloak, fused with whatever it got from the duckpond manoeuvre and a gift from Manannán’s Bane, to become the ability to transport itself, while from me it had absorbed the spirit magic to cleave braided ghosts. It had also acquired a finely tuned sense of why anyone wanted to wield it. My line about making it an offer it didn’t want to refuse had been right, and the Boss had a single out saying so — the pack were annoyingly given to singing the chorus, _A sword needs to shine, not to court the idle rust, / So I came gladly to her hand, and the vampire came to dust_ , when they thought I couldn’t hear — but I was also right that on this occasion it had no further interest.

The cloak had acted on reflex, and was puzzled by how to proceed. I offered alternatives, and a second thorny tendril extended upwards, swayed menacingly in front of the idiot’s face, and pricked his nose hard enough to make him jump back with a shout as the cloak released his wrist, to leave him sprawling on his back. Skuffles yipped amusement.

“Count yourself _very_ lucky, sir, as far as fae justice is concerned. Then again, tribal law has things to say about attempted theft of sacred artefacts, and you are _so_ busted.”

The idiot was arrested while paramedics saw to wrist, fingers, and nose. I did a quick survey before assuring them magic had done nothing to prevent injuries healing, which it could have, wounds that won’t heal being a perennial — ask Philoctetes, or Ingrey kin Wolfcliff. The media next day mostly approved, confirming legalities, and commending (in strangled voices) my cloak’s restraint. They also began, at last, to wonder what living with self-aware artefacts might mean, and I answered questions about things that had their own ethical parameters and the difference between old, independent artefacts like Manannán’s Bane and Excalibur, and the cloak as a personal lifetime gift from Underhill. It had autonomy of means but not intent, while Excalibur was its own though it acknowledged me. And no, curiosity still wasn’t a good enough reason to draw it, but practice was, and I eventually allowed Caroline to film a session in vain hope it might deter further requests. I also let a Wazzu archaeologist photograph it and record tech specs which more successfully satisfied the panting historians.

My tour moved into New England, with a charged reception from the Olde Towne Pack. Boston was very conscious it had taken hits from the Heuter verdict and MacLandis, but defensive of clannish Catholicism and ethnicities — taking another hit as the Vatican continued silent despite evidence Bonarata’s influence had been considerable. His primary purpose had been control of the Church’s power to brush briskly under carpets, but latterly he’d had fingers in murky financial dealings, including money-laundering, and some Italian seethes were in places that, on paper, the Church owned. I was dreading speaking at Fenway Park, but an enormous audience listened carefully as I tackled it head-on. The Heuter verdict and MacLandis were inexcusable, but the point of remembering shame was to know what had to change, where not to go, how not to think, and nothing was stopping Boston doing that. Harvard and MIT could help examine the Bonarata Papers, speeding publication, and Irish-American and Italian-American communities could reach out to one another in a common predicament. Meantime, the Olde Towne Pack under Isaac Owens would be launching the Magical Entente next week, with Frank making a major speech, and the local seethe fully involved, so the city had a chance to make a fresh start. It was tricky, and the bigwigs were not remotely at ease with me, but knew political opportunity when handed one, and the sorts of things I’d suggested did began to happen, bringing positive energy, and my local poll numbers, lower than most places, climbed sharply.

Then I headed to the Upper Mid-West, meaning more bison, and in Wyoming the Freed and I enjoyed a riotous reception from excitable Shoshone and Arapaho, with a heavy turnout of lawmakers. Many state flags with its bison silhouette were flying, Wyoming was there, and after we’d inspected a herd let me know how much he appreciated my suggestion about chairing the inter-basin committee, the ‘watershed state’ being a promising new nickname. I couldn’t avoid a conversation about Heuter and those sentenced with him, whose appeals had in Wyoming’s way gone straight to their supreme court, failed, and were waiting on a reluctant SCOTUS. There _had_ been procedural irregularities, with preternatural witnesses and my brief to look after fae, but the Medicine Wolf Accords had been in force, evidence of mass rape-torture-murder was overwhelming, and quashing convictions on a technicality would be politically fraught. The justices were wary after the resignation of two associates who’d lied about belonging to the JLS, and the Man’s nomination of ethnic moderates to replace them, but would soon have to say if they would hear the appeal — which would kick everything past November or give Wyoming a problem I wasn’t touching with a stick.

“Not my business, sir, unless you want confirmation that should it ever be my decision he’ll get no reprieve from me.”

“If it is during your campaign, though …”

“Then it’s during my campaign. Law shouldn’t run on the electoral cycle.”

“Of course not. Frankly, Ms Hauptman, I wondered if you’d rather he saw you win. Call it a parting gift from Wyoming.”

“That would be Wyoming’s privilege, sir. Can’t say I don’t admire your sense of revenge, but it’s your business.”

“Right. If and when, will you attend? Or Ms Velasquez?”

“I won’t, and I doubt Ramona will, though I’ll ask. Knowing is enough.”

It was a strange business, and Ramona declined at once, saying no Freed had any interest in watching executions, even that one, so I set about ignoring it again. Coyote helped by staging his long-awaited _National Geographic_ special on Pleistocene megafauna. He roped in his peers and included Medicine Wolf and Ol’ Manitou River by camera and phone, with enough palaeobiologists and -botanists in the audience to constitute a conference — and if they had the same problem as everyone hearing eyewitness statements about events more than ten thousand years ago, papers are still coming out on everything from smilodons to short-faced bears. Elder Spirits had been less confined than they’d latterly chosen to be, ranging along the ice-front as it retreated, so there were maps of glacial lakes Missoula and Agassiz and their drainage events. The unbelievable power of the Missoula floods was memorably described, but the big surprise was manitou perspectives on having hundreds of cubic miles of water abruptly added to one’s system. Catastrophic events could not usually be avoided, and however they disliked ice ages there had been nothing they could do, but mass losses of flora and fauna during the ice’s retreat were unwelcome, and ameliorating current threats with human and preternatural co-operation a bonus all round, hence willing co-operation about the Cascadia ’quake and Yellowstone.

 _National Geographic_ issued a lavishly illustrated _Elder Spirits’ and Great Manitous’ Guide to the North American Late Pleistocene_ as an Others 101 textbook, fuelling a Pleistocene-over-dinosaurs craze and in the longer term providing contributors with considerable income. It affected the way preternatural ages were thought about, establishing a perspective in which bicentenarian wolves were the least of it and manitous as emergent magical properties came well before the interaction of First People with totemic animals gave rise to Elder Spirits, and in a related fashion the Fae. Wolves came later, out of the same matrices of human–animal interaction, and vampires couldn’t be much older than Baba Yaga’s known encounter in about 2000 BCE. The collective data really did get it into human heads that very few preternaturals achieved longevity, and the wannabes problem was way smaller than feared.

It made Bran happy. I was amused that while ap Lugh had taken him to see the Untenanted Duckpond fae were heeding my wish about telling humans — or a Gray Lord’s orders, but for once it came to the same thing. Bran had mixed feelings about the triad, not much caring for the mix of absurdity and irony with real power, but greatly approved of Excalibur having a proper resting-place that wasn’t his study. And he was still blessing me for Lenka, so that was alright.


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

Not everything was roses, of course, and my tour suffered three interruptions, one not unwelcome, in the end, one pure annoyance, if not entirely a waste of time, and the last pretty good all round.

The bewildered theologians had agreed the form of an open-air service in Gateway Park, giving thanks for releases from enslavement and bondage, and thankfully remitting judgement upwards while asking mercy for all, on principle. I’d rather have skipped it, but the Man had been right it would be popular, and I can’t say I was bored. To accommodate vampires it was held two hours before dawn and several hundred attended, painfully polite and clearly scared of me, which was less fun than I’d hoped but not unsatisfying. Marsilia, Wulfe, and Hao were there, and — I breathed deeply — Stefan. He hadn’t responded to a message, and looked tired but smiled as he offered a hand.

“Mercy. All honour to you. I’m sorry to have been silent, but I have a great deal to do, and did not know what to say except that I remain deeply amazed and rejoice, however there are sorrows enough to contemplate.”

“I know, Stefan. But he had to go. _Ruat coelum_.”

“As it has.” He shrugged. “But all is better, and will be well enough. Adam, Jesse, you also have my thanks and congratulations, and please tell Ms Thorsden how glad she made me.”

Jesse gave him a hug that surprised other vamps no end.

“Of course, Stefan.” I turned. “Mr Hao, Marsilia. Wulfe.”

Marsilia was very wary, stiffly acknowledging PR advice and thanking me for making sure Borrowed Warchest funds had been available for bereaved donors. Wulfe’s anger had subsided into sulky resignation, so I pushed him on meeting at Uncle Mike’s sooner than later, and with the rite imminent he accepted.

The Man had talked to St Louis U. priests about death sometimes having no mercy, and those who spoke did well enough, having learned something of the East St Louis vamps, who had just been the nearest, and gliding over more ambiguous European sacrifices — Bonarata’s own, fallen into disfavour for whatever reason — to Lenka. Her crimes could not be forgotten but she was rightly thought a victim, and there was interesting precedent in a memorial service with four centuries of life to recall, however much was thankfully obscure. Bran was attending anonymously, and Asil spoke for wolves. He hadn’t met Lenka, but had known her Alpha husband slightly and remembered cursing news of her enthrallment, with the horror of her growing reputation as a killer as decades passed. It was honest and cathartic, Asil knowing enough about unending torment to leave many weeping.

Lenka’s ghost watched with an expression more sardonic than mad, and when I extended my magic I thought I knew what had happened. Her wolf had been the mad one, but the four-legged didn’t leave ghosts so it was gone, allowing the long-subordinated human to … re-expand, maybe, and if she wasn’t entirely sane she was more so. When she drifted towards me, becoming denser with curiosity and sudden recognition, I offered her choices I could think of, and when she gave me a startled look and nodded I promised to see to it. She drifted off to contemplate assembled vamps at a religious service, something that might have been wonder on her face. The Man was there, as was Bran, so I had quiet words, earning stares, and two days later what would have been Air Force One if the Man had been aboard flew Lenka’s coffin, me, Adam, and a silent Bran with Asil and some older wolves to Slovakia. Lenka’s long-dead mate lay by the chapel of a small village in the Beskids, and we watched a nervous priest bury her beside him. There were no survivors of their pack, but European wolves attended from all over, and it felt right, a peaceful and proper end. I was pretty sure her ghost would move on soon, if it hadn’t already, I could file under grateful dead, and though I hadn’t been sure I’d want to speak, when the priest finished I told everyone so, drawing a scandalised look that faded into confusion as he saw wolves nodding at my account of the eyes I’d seen four times, thrice filled with madness, alive and dead, and once with sanity, more peacefully dead. That this was what her ghost had wanted had been in Bran’s urgent request to Slovakian wolves, but the fuller story from an avatar perspective was welcome, and that the dead were grateful for proper burial a familiar legend, so it made sense enough.

An interesting afternoon followed, wolves supplementing the village inn with outdoor roasting-pits. The priest left muttering, and I amused Bran and Adam by offering to demonstrate my dominance, if they’d like. As I was wearing the cloak I could drop real pressure on them all even before I had Skuffles pop up, after which I could relax, relatively speaking, and have useful conversations about things that might work on various Paths of Mercy and Assertion. Then we let the other shoe drop with a resounding thud, Asil’s sons having flown up from Spain because the three of them were proposing European co-ordination with him as chairwolf. Asil had no desire to become a European Marrok, but with his dominance boosted by human status as oldest-known werewolf he thought he and his sons, millenarians themselves, could undertake some useful diplomacy. Bran backed him, I was happy to promise that if I won US co-operation and diplomatic pressure would be available if they could convince me it was warranted and would be productive, and we left them to Asil’s tender mercies with hopes running high.

We paid the Slovak piper by dining with their President, Prime Minister, and Foreign Minister, new territory in which I confirmed my focus, if elected, would be strongly domestic, but that didn’t mean failing to keep treaty obligations, and yes, I’d support Paths of Mercy and Assertion anywhere. There should be a great manitou of the Danube Basin, so why not try saying hello? Wolves could put them in touch with a white witch, and while there were no guarantees, if they took serious steps to reduce pollution the manitou would surely notice. The Foreign Minister had questions about the missionary use of Algonquin _Gitche Manitou,_ ‘great spirit’, for the Christian God, and if they should use _genius loci_. Their problem, though I knew which I’d do.

The evening after we got home I forced the meeting with Wulfe and Marsilia at Uncle Mike’s, but it was an anticlimax, though the Secret Service didn’t think so. Despite reassurances from Skuffles, who’d taken to hanging out there to check on fae gossip (she said), they were nervy, police cordons keeping media well away, but there really wasn’t a problem. Irpa met us with Zee and Uncle Mike, and though dominance made no nevermind with fae and vamps, I had every magical accessory, and amid the silence that fell as we entered gave everything free rein, power crackling around me. Then I hauled it in, and gave a sunny smile.

“Greetings, Baba Yaga, Ymir, and to all.” I got back a ragged chorus of Mercedes-Elf-friend-and-Troll-friend, and nodded politely. “Darryl Zao and Warren Smith you know, but let me name Brent Lanning and Jill Widepaw. And for the record, the six humans are Secret Service. It’s hardly a true equivalent, but you might think of them as like the knights of Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, and as they look only to me I shall not name them. They won’t be drinking, either.”

“Fair enough, lass.” Uncle Mike’s informality was welcome. “I owe you a drink, and don’t care to leave such a debt unpaid. Irpa reckons you’re owed a cask of Valhallan mead, but that’s her lookout. A half of Guinness?”

“That I can manage, Uncle Mike.” I glanced at Zee. “How interesting the debt should be paid when a half suits me as well as his … frugality.”

“ _Ja._ ” Zee spoke blandly. “But as it is his unhappy hour, he can record the price of a full pint.”

I laughed and Uncle Mike gave me an appreciative look. Trust him to charge a premium when I was there.

“Of course I can, and Guinness is dear enough. I’ll bring it to you.”

Tensions eased with my laugh, but silence continued as I swept to the booth where Marsilia and Wulfe waited, greeting them with as much cordiality as I could muster. Jill sat with me, sense of bulk strong, while Brent, Darryl, Warren, and Skuffles stood at the table’s end and the Secret Service ringed us, letting in only Uncle Mike with my Guinness.

“ _Your health_ doesn’t seem quite appropriate, nor _l'cheim_ , but cheers.” I sipped, enjoying the bitter taste. “I have seen AED Westfield’s and Director Wiseman’s reports on compliant seethes and loners but your assessments would be welcome.”

They couldn’t demur, but Wulfe was still sulking, reminding me whatever his age and power he remained a teenager of sorts. It was clear all the same that he’d been better prepared for my death than Bonarata’s dismissal and truly shocked when I managed it, as well as incredulous about the means. Something in their natures meant the notion of effective alliance with Underhill had really not been on their radar, nor power loaned on such a scale without debt, so I’d blindsided them completely, forcing abrupt implementation of underdeveloped contingency plans, which was what the AED and I had decided had to be the case. Things were under control but there had been less opportunity for empire-building than they’d have liked, however they were now, in some vamp measure, the senior North Americans of their kind.

Grief I wasn’t sure about, but there was loss as well as pragmatic acceptance of opportunity and new wariness of me. In Marsilia it was close enough to fear that she was playing it as straight as I’d ever seen, and I wondered, not for the first time, how abusive a maker Bonarata had been, and what longer-term effects of knowing me to have dismissed him might be. In Wulfe it was resentful frustration, bafflement at the loss of what he thought extreme achievement, and I let loose some scorn.

“Take care, Wulfe the Sorcerer. Blending fae magic and Undeadness may have been a magical achievement, for some value of achievement, as may drinking ghosts, but both are abomination. I do not disrespect your power, or Marsilia’s, but if there is ever hard evidence you yet pursue abomination I will bend all power to seek your dismissal.” His eyes glittered, and I took a chance, softening my voice. “Am I right to think you were Turned by She of Livorno?”

He stared, but drew himself up. “I do not shame to acknowledge it.”

Vamps rarely said anything about shame, and I nodded carefully.

“Why should you? Whatever your own power, so young, hers was greater. You were up against Morgoth, after all.”

His abrupt laugh sounded genuine. “So I was. Why do you ask?”

“Because among the ghosts I released from your child were those of your maker and her parents. Gall, wormwood, and verbena, yes?”

I’d had to think hard about my fleeting impressions of those ghosts among the braided, but they should have been there, and Wulfe nodded, eyes wide.

“Truly?”

“Truly, Wulfe, and they moved on with, strict meaning, ecstatic assent. Be glad what made Morgoth Morgoth, and Sauron Sauron, never did come to you. Do not hanker for what you would not survive. Nor you, Marsilia. The putative inheritance dangled before you is gone. Be glad of it.”

I don’t think either was convinced, but it gave them plenty to chew on and made them more talkative. They knew that if I won I would not want vamp problems in my backyard, and that gave them a little leverage and a lot of vulnerability to my patience running out. I made clear it was already drained, not least because I could tally what Wulfe had and hadn’t been honest about, and had a serious grudge against Marsilia on Stefan’s behalf she still didn’t get ; and Wulfe confirmed his business with Nemane was concluded, the net result being another lingering ill of some kind dealt with while — Adam and I later agreed — some fae magic lost to Undeath on a battlefield somewhere had been returned to Nemane. All in all, I concluded that however they felt neither had any desire to make trouble, so I leant hard on them about _vergangenheitsbewaltigung_ , extracting a promise of conversation with Italian police about Bonarata’s holdings.

The rest of the visit to Uncle Mike’s was a blast, because everybody wanted selfies with me and Skuffles, and tried to cajole me into hints about the Untenanted Duckpond with offers of drink I steadfastly refused. One or two suggestions in the Book of Wagers were half-way sensible but most were at best WAGs and often silly. So were the losing suggestions for completing the triad, and my hoots of laughter probably did more good than trying to whack them all with the flat of Excalibur, which crossed my mind. Eventually I took pity on the Secret Service, and let them escort us home.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Yes and no, Ms Hauptman.” The senior agent mopped his brow, and I grinned. “I’ll believe there was no real threat, for your values of real and threat, but none of us have ever been in the presence of more danger.”

“Mmm. Yes and no back. I take the point, which is why Baba Yaga was riding herd, but it was numbers, not individuals. Fae public, not big guns. DC will see a lot more power than that in one place.”

The DC trip was the truly unwelcome interruption, because Senator Stupid _had_ filed suits, objecting in California to Irpa’s status as a citizen and suing Hao and me in federal court for compensation in nine figures for conspiring as preternaturals to assault and humiliate him as a human, for unlawful political ends. The challenge to Irpa, demanding she suspend campaigning until it was heard, was a wanton tactic, and the Man assured me California needed no prodding to talk to the state’s Chief Justice, nor she to schedule an emergency hearing. The Senator’s lawyers were not as prepared for such speed as Jenny, and a crunchingly precise morning, demonstrating Irpa had been resident in Haight-Ashbury most of a century, whatever her glamour and travels, paid plenty in taxes, all duly recorded, and was therefore specifically covered as a full citizen by the Medicine Wolf Accords, however a dual national, won dismissal of the suit as without merit, with full costs. I was almost sorry Senator Stupid wasn’t there to hear the stinging judgement but world media were, and Irpa capped my nickname by telling them she had thought him merely Senator Stupid but attempted gerrymandering made him Senator Snake Oil. I might have wondered aloud if he was still running for the presidency because he knew he’d lose his senate seat, but left it to the media to expand on the slight problem of his logic.

The suit naming me and Hao was not so time-critical until I pointed out on national TV there was a fair chance that if it wasn’t heard before November it couldn’t be for four years, and a serious charge against a candidate should be sorted promptly for the benefit of the electorate. On this one the Man did have to do some prodding, but as it would be a test of legislation he’d just slammed through Congress at lightning speed, he got on with it and legal wheels creaked into alarming motion. Senator Snake Oil showed his first name was still Stupid when he tried to argue lack of delay was unfair, because un-American preternaturals had known for years what they’d have to do, while he was having to respond on his feet, a patriotic lone voice. Jury selection was imperilled without time to screen properly for pro-preternatural bias. He made the further mistake of taking questions, and was tied into knots by scornful media. The court set an earlier date than asked for, so after Texas off to DC we went.

Hao consented to daywalk, so as not to inconvenience the court, while noting most US vampires could not do so, and the court responded by shuttering windows. The room was packed, preternatural representatives out in force as well as the Beltway, though Skuffles had declined to come, having had enough of the Senator, but there was space around Hao and his lawyers, so I headed over, offering a hand.

“Mr Hao.”

“Ms Hauptman. But Thomas, perhaps, as we are co-defendants.”

“Mercy, then. Am I right that … beings have not been saying hello? Then let’s sort that right away.”

Ap Lugh, other fae, wolves, avatars, and Coyote took being formally introduced to a vamp as well as could be expected, the mutual courtesy exquisite but not hollow. I was vouching for Thomas, which carried weight, as did his TV performance, and if it would be a slow path a step had been taken. Everyone was observing avidly, so I made a point of being brisk, and as soon as the judge entered apologised for any delay. I was assured we had occasioned none, jurors were sworn, and Senator Snake Oil’s lawyer was on. After fifteen minutes of deeply meaningless preamble Jenny rose.

“Your Honour, might Mr Howard get to a substantive point? Any substantive point?”

“We can hope, Ms Trevelyan. Mr Howard, foot-dragging does not impress the court. Your client has alleged very serious criminal if not treasonous conspiracy, claiming enormous damages in what is clearly, however legal, a political tactic. Cut to the chase, Mr Howard.”

Mr Howard objected, the Judge’s temper frayed, and eventually we were informed the whole of St Louis had been staged to capture the presidency for preternaturals bent on the nation’s destruction. The Senator had been subject to magical mugging that wantonly slurred him, and youth were being brainwashed using social media, which was why I’d recruited Jesse to my nefarious plans. The judge’s head snapped up.

“Mr Howard, Miss Hauptman is not named in your submission and a minor. Are you naming her a co-conspirator in this alleged plan?”

I had hands on Adam’s and Jesse’s arms, both quivering.

“By no means, Your Honour. She is yet another victim of her step-mother’s heinous and lawless ambition.”

Jenny stood. “Your Honour, Miss Hauptman is present and can speak for herself. I object to her wilfully false characterisation by Mr Howard, and note a strong echo of Bright Future’s policy concerning minors, found unlawful in, to date, seven state and eleven federal judgements.”

“Indeed.” Jesse’s hand escaped my control. “Miss Hauptman? You wish to say something?”

“I do, Your Honour. May I engage directly with Mr Howard?”

There was a humming pause, and the Judge waggled a hand.

“It is not usual procedure, Miss Hauptman, but there isn’t much of that about today, it seems, and everybody save the appellants desires an expeditious outcome. Were you given notice that Mr Howard would cite you regarding the alleged conspiracy of your stepmother and Mr Hao?”

“I was not, Your Honour.”

“Then you have been ambushed, and direct response is fair. Go ahead.”

Howard looked like a rabbit in the headlights, as Jesse rose and my hand found Adam’s. She surveyed him for a few electric seconds.

“Sir, I am wearily used to people trying to use me as a lever against Dad or Mom. Cantrip tried it, Mrs Bradley tried it, the Director of the Secret Service tried it, my birth mother tried it, and they all went down in flames. Or guano.” I was not the only one to stifle a snort. “Now you’re trying it. Just how dim _are_ you? And how dare you? You and professional ethics seem to be strangers, so let me tell you, sir, loud and clear, I am not a brainwashed member of your paranoid conspiracy theory. I am a fully consenting member of a widely shared plan to see Mercy elected president, for the safety-critical good of all Americans. And I’ve never seen anyone commit political suicide as often as your client. It’s getting ghoulish. You realise Mom’s walking-dead crack was precisely aimed?”

There was more silence, until Jesse threw up her hands.

“Why do I doubt you’ll be so silent when you can spin lies without anyone interrupting, Mr Howard? Knowing many hear you who will hear any lie and call you on it, can you tell me if there is anything at all in your client’s entire submission you actually _know_ to be true?”

His mouth worked without sound, and Senator Snake Oil stood.

“You are suborned, and have no understanding.”

“Try again, Senator. I understand way more about the preternatural than you, and, on your present showing, politics, improbable as that ought to be. You were Dim Future, so everyone knows you swing to bigotry. Now you demonstrate it again, with a side of child abuse.”

“How dare you! Be silent, girl. You know nothing.”

“Girl? Very weak and very slow was spot on. And I’ll stand by everything I’ve said, and prove it. Will you?”

“Of course!”

“Then please get on with it. You didn’t do so well when you asked Mom to prove something. How will you do when the onus is on you?”

The answer was not so well at all, and as witnesses Howard began to call were all JLS or Dim Future, with nothing to say beyond assertions the preternatural was intrinsically evil, not by God to be trusted in any way, and certain to be conspiring about all sorts of things, actual evidence of conspiracy was non-existent. There were repeated untruths about the preternatural in general and me in particular that Jenny had to object to, and as they included things MacLandis asserted it was ugly. Her cross-examinations were simple but effective exposures of the fact that none of these witnesses had any first-hand knowledge of anything relevant to the allegations, nor, despite their beliefs to the contrary, anything I or Thomas had done that constituted any possible illegality except the throw-and-catch and hypnosis. When a strident woman insisted what had happened in Gateway Park had to be illegal, and if it wasn’t should be, my eyes met Jenny’s and she turned to the Judge.

“Ms Trevelyan?”

“Your Honour, things that should, in an individual’s opinion, be illegal, but aren’t, do not belong in court. It may seem premature, but we wish to move for dismissal as without merit, and Ms Hauptman asks to address the court, speaking to that motion.”

The Judge thought about it, then nodded. Ms Strident was excused, much to her irritation, and I rose.

“Your Honour, thank you, and a short preamble. The appellants did not provide much disclosure, pleading rapidity of arrangements, so I didn’t know until today what we were going to get, legally speaking. Politically, however, a fourfold purpose has always been clear — to try to smear me, for electoral advantage ; to tie me up in court when I should be campaigning, ditto ; to gain free airtime in which to parade anti-preternatural bigotry, more ditto ; and to try for financial penalties, partly ditto and partly because the Senator already has a whopping campaign debt and is about to lose his salary.” The Senator was bug-eyed, but I ignored him. “It is clear that the Senator is trying to use the court to do what he should be trying to do by campaigning, and can’t. Even if there were supposed evidence of anything alleged, this suit would be a political abuse of the legal system, infringing the court’s dignity and the rights of voters. And what I’ve learned this morning is that no evidence is forthcoming. The witnesses with top billing have had nothing to offer but fantastical conspiracy-theorising and wishful thinking. Not one got as far as hearsay, and no witness listed can have any personal knowledge of any conspiring I did, because none of them were involved.”

I gave an austere smile while the court held its breath.

“The Senator is extraordinarily vain to think I was conspiring against _him_ , Your Honour. I was, with many preternaturals, the President, Joint Chiefs, and directors of federal agencies conspiring against Bonarata, and the Senator wasn’t even on my radar until he took part in what I called the barking bigotry show. Nor did he stand out then, save in crudity of thinking, before Gateway Park, where he tried to crush my hand and obscenely protested his lack of precedence in my arrangements. That and his equally dim conduct during the debate certainly made him a big fat political target, but wholly of opportunity.”

There was muffled laughter.

“Nor would it have been possible for me to conspire _with_ Mr Hao when I was conspiring with others to out vampires and force regime change among them, even supposing I’d given two hoots about the Senator. Mr Hao and I have both deposed that before St Louis, we had met three times, all predating Cantrip’s kidnapping, when I had no notion of running for anything. I have also submitted campaign documentation, including records of FEC scrutiny, while so far as Jesse’s social media goes I submit that Twitter is not a conspiracy either, legally at least.”

The laughter was more open, even the Judge cracking a smile.

“I’m not sure of the proper legal term, save without merit, but the allegations are hogwash, laughable in themselves — but not in their intent, at best unethical and at worst unconstitutional. The Senator is invoking laws he’d like to pass if he won, which he won’t, to enable him to campaign in court, which he shouldn’t, and prevent me campaigning properly, which while the case continues he is.” I waggled a hand. “I’m no lawyer, Your Honour, but in plain terms Mr Hao and I agree, as we indicated at the time, that the Senator would have a case against Mr Hao for assault, however he’d be lucky to be awarded more than nominal damages. Mr Hao could have bent an iron bar to prove strength, or done a whirlwind lap to prove speed, but as the Senator had already refused to believe his own eyes there would have been no point in repeating a merely visual demonstration. Mr Hao also had, as he told the President, an entirely serious public-service intent, newly registered vampires _really_ not needing humans who doubted their speed and strength trying it on, and humans not needing the casualties that would result. Any humiliation of the Senator was incidental, and as Mr Hao was registered he was covered by the Medicine Wolf Accords. It’s true the Senator did not wilfully address him, but did implicitly make an assertion about vampires. I concede it’s arguable, but as the Senator has tied that one possible justification into a web of baseless allegations, wantonly abusing due process, I feel it would not be inappropriate for the court to toss out that particular baby with its soiled bathwater.”

The Judge pursed lips, and I shrugged.

“Either way, Your Honour, unless Mr Howard can produce one actual piece of relevant testimony, I ask the court to dismiss the suit as wholly lacking merit, as it lacks truth, plausibility, and everything except political slanders born of desperation that infringe the court’s dignity.”

He nodded. “Unorthodox, Ms Hauptman, but clearly argued and not uncompelling. Mr Stevens, do you concur in the motion to dismiss?”

“I do, Your Honour, and Mr Hao has deposed that he acted without consulting anyone save the President, primarily for the public-service reasons Ms Hauptman enumerated.”

“So I saw, Mr Stevens. Primarily?”

Thomas rose, and the Judge nodded permission.

“The Senator offended, Your Honour, by sheer inanity and aggressive disrespect of Ms Hauptman. It was by my standards a mild response.”

“Perhaps so, Mr Hao, but an assault nonetheless. However, I agree with Ms Hauptman about babies and bathwater, so I shall not let it trouble me. Mr Howard, I must concur that you have thus far offered no evidence at all supporting your client’s claims. Do you have—”

“But it all does, for God’s sake.” The Senator was on his feet, face working. “The whole thing was a set-up. It has to be. That black Indian giant, and the vampire stuff. Things don’t happen like that on their own.”

I held in my reaction, looking at the Judge.

“Control yourself, Senator! You will observe courtesy, and respect the court’s authority. Do you wish to reply, Ms Hauptman?”

I turned, speaking gently. “Of course they didn’t happen on their own, Senator, and of course it was a set-up, but the being _I_ set up was Bonarata, and the only person who set _you_ up was yourself, three times over. Yes, I lined up greeting Ol’ Manitou River and the debate, in response to the insults you and others offered and as bait for Bonarata. The political trap would have worked anyway, unless I’d been killed, and is unimpeachably legal. However it stings, you were an irrelevance and in every way save abusing this court’s time still are. Mr Howard needs to put up or shut up. And you need to do likewise, on the campaign trail, where we both should be.”

The judge grilled Howard, honourably trying to find out if there was in fact any evidence to be offered, then accepted the motion to dismiss as without merit, awarding costs and adding a blistering rebuke to the Senator for trying to use the courts to achieve what he couldn’t in debate. In most ways the whole thing was a distracting nine-ring circus, but it mattered that a vampire had been sued and successfully used a legal rather than physical defence. Far from challenging vamp citizenship the Senator had confirmed it, and I amused court and media by thanking him before saying I couldn’t be bothered to counter-sue for slander, having better things to do and the law being unconcerned with trifles.

“What the Senator intended was wholly reprehensible, but he’s as lightweight as Thomas Hao found him.”

The media had a happy time with that remark and images of the senator at the top of his aerial career as well as glumly leaving court, which enlivened my renewed tour. It was more weird logic, but not many people except the President outrank federal senators, and as I’d now bagged two it followed I really was up to the job.

The last, welcome interruption came in the last leg, with the pack’s full-moon hunt, which I happily joined, and the beginning of the WashU conferences, which I attended intermittently. Everyone was there for the opening, but I tried to leave them to it while being available every second or third day for sideways thinking. Lots of people wanted my time, and I talked to scores from the Department of the Mississippi and Corps of Engineers. Ol’ Manitou River seemed happier when I was there — and, like Medicine Wolf, rated human computer graphics, swiftly getting the hang of providing data about itself an order of magnitude more accurate than anything humans had. The integrated 3-D map of the river that resulted was a wonder enabling swift strategies about dredging, other forms of silt redistribution, reshaping troublesome stretches of channel, and modelling dam and lock removal. Another highlight was experimental levee-baking, which gave Engineers beatific expressions. Their Chief had been amused by my annexing Earth Fae Island, now officially called that and off-limits to humans, and though lower ranks didn’t genuflect they did adopt me, a bunch of colonels making Adam laugh by giving me an army blouson with regimental insignia and an oversize nameplate for my full Amerindian moniker. They also said helpful things to media, and I was happy to extend invitations they wanted to moving I84.

Some bits were straightforward — levees protecting _all_ districts in New Orleans (and elsewhere below the Ohio confluence) would be heightened, where possible deepened, and baked very hard indeed — but some really weren’t. Progressively banning nitrate fertilisers had given more than Iowa conniptions, but Ol’ Manitou River refused to renegotiate, providing dense and sickening data about their effects, while a quivering Congress, eyes firmly on November, was despite market shrieking already repealing the law about corn biofuel. Big Agribusiness was well-placed in St Louis to throw its weight around, but found it bounced right off Ol’ Manitou River as well as me, and when we arranged a side-trip to Iowa to talk to a delegation of farmers on the front line, about whom many claims had been made, they more than anything wanted guarantees they wouldn’t be left in the green lurch, and were not unwilling to farm much less intensively. What they farmed was moot, but I can’t say I regretted leaving Iowa facing organised demand for legalisation of marijuana, a reduction in taxes on market gardening, and a Hydropower Association wanting turbines to tap the Ohio’s current without damming anything.

Wider preternatural integration went well, and though finding things for vamps to do wasn’t easy translocators agreed to act as a warning system in emergency, and make available the strength and speed of any who could reach a critical site. Everyone was good with that, because it was clear vamps’ real uses were as permanent night-shift, and for translocators SWAT, as one in upstate New York had shown ending a hostage situation. Speaking as an apparent member of the negotiating team, she gleaned an invitation to enter, ostensibly to bring medication, and promptly translocated in and back out a few seconds later, unconscious gunman dangling from one hand. It had been fine PR, and if vamps were marginal at the conferences they were there in the evenings, offering nice pictures of kinds mingling.

Jesse’s scheduled intranets ended with the school year, but her performance produced a chorus of requests to continue over the summer. Oddly, PBS had no objection to an enormous hit carrying on for ever, and Jesse was into it. Her live morning audience had grown nationwide, and though some school districts refused, hundreds of thousands of kiddos insistently going to school every Wednesday morning tickled many senses of humour and improbability. Jesse was combining stuff from wherever I’d been that week with running themes and new issues. Joel and Adam on dogs, scenting, wolf or avatar parents, and campus security had done much to soothe post-Parkland breasts that jibbed at SAGE, and Jesse called out schools with preternatural parents and had them organising rosters for the fall, while others got priority on dogs.

Once the conferences started Jesse asked to come whenever I went, quizzing me about anything she didn’t get, and two intranets that went out while they were happening were far and away the best analyses I saw. Every delegate I talked to agreed, and it was really useful because everyone was on the same page despite disagreements. In making sure kiddos nationwide knew exactly where we were all at, Jesse asserted the political power of mobilised minors, arranging to meet groups from schools in Missouri and Illinois in a series of manoeuvres I greatly enjoyed.

One strand was Frank, Rachel, and a beaming Andrea launching Others 101, and kiddos got to meet senior preternaturals, including Ol’ Manitou River, ap Lugh, Irpa, Coyote, Charles, Anna, and me, primed to make nice despite crowded schedules. Ap Lugh told me with a wry smile he enjoyed being organised by Jesse more than by me, a remark I didn’t pass on, and Charles’s pleasure in Jesse’s willingness to tease him was a warmth in my heart. A second strand was schools in East St Louis that rarely sent anyone to WashU, and the Chancellor was smart enough to arrange a reception. Brits had a thing about colleges having responsibility to host communities and Jesse decided the Duckpond Fund, augmented by whatever donations she could scrounge — and that was a _lot_ — should be for disadvantaged kiddos, which was fine by me and Adam. She pushed the Chancellor into agreeing WashU would match Duckpond Funding, and there was already enough in her kitty for several dozen who had just graduated with no hope of going where they could if brains alone mattered. To cap it, the second intranet was not only full of younger local disadvantaged and enthusiastic WashU profs in many disciplines, but had an interview with the Man, ignoring campaign matters to quiz him cogently about federal policy and kiddos.

Jesse didn’t hesitate to use herself raising questions about rights and custody issues, the position of minors who knew preternatural secrets others might like to know, and when it became reasonable to resort to law to demand a parent or guardian do right. Those the Man dealt with substantively, but Jesse’s closing words nailed people.

“Thank you, Mr President, for your time. There is one other thing I wanted to say, but it’s awkward not to make partisan. Still, here goes. Thank you for pushing Mom to run. I hope and think she’ll win but whatever happens her running has done a huge amount of good. Ol’ Manitou River would have come out anyway, and these wonderful conferences would be happening, as the Cascadia ’quake will, but it’s helped sort the vampire problem, and I think in giving deep change some continuity your endorsement will prove very important. And I think I know … or can imagine, something of what taking that risk meant to you.” Jesse’s hands gracefully indicated complexity. “I hope it’s not boasting to say I know about living with and taking risks, and you’ve exceeded expectations, Mr President, by a long way. Your forthrightness the first time we met has proven a true indicator, and your willingness to give me time today, to take seriously those without votes, is another. I have no right to speak for any minor but myself, but thank you for your wisdom on all our behalves.”

The Man was visibly moved, and left with a smile on his face. Once he was gone they came close to mobbing Jesse, but Skuffles kept things under control and Jesse talked about speaking to power clearly, looking it in the eye. At the end the Chancellor invited her to the celebratory bash WashU arranged for the final night, and ruthless organisation produced closing statements that gave the Department of the Mississippi clear policy guidelines and action plans. There were holes, but a palpable sense of progress, mutual promises kept, and when the Chancellor proposed toasts Jesse found out how much delegates appreciated her. She made the cover of that week’s _Time_ , hands gesturing and green hair gleaming as she argued some point, and I had the pleasure of listening to Nan and Ruthie tease her about matching me, and ask how she planned to make the cover of _National Geographic_.

“I don’t,” she told them with grave dignity, eyes alight. “But they asked me to write a foreword for the _Guide to the North American Late Pleistocene_. Does that count?”


	59. Chapter 59

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

On the Saturday after the conferences closed we were up early, because it was time to move I84. Work on the new rail bridge, using Memaloose Island, had been going on for a fortnight with help from Medicine Wolf and a crew Irpa put together, and it was ready for sections of the old one to be reused. Convoys of road surfacers had been moving in for forty-eight hours, and at 6 a.m. I84 was closed between The Dalles and Biggs Junction, traffic diverted onto the Lewis-and-Clark Highway. Jesse and Adam weren’t needed but neither would have missed it for the world, nor a bouncy Skuffles, so Darryl, Jill, and Brent came by cloak, while Dan, the Joes, and David’s crew went with the Freed.

Despite the hour crowds around Wishram on the north bank were dense, and many had scored closer invitations. The Freed reinforced Sheriff’s Deputies keeping people away from large machines, and any number of army engineers were talking earnest physics and maths with civilian counterparts, politicians, Yakama elders, medicine men, and gawkers, Caroline and Penny putting it all on air. Raven was talking to Yakama about animals Elder Spirits were fetching, and I listened for a while but it was more fun to show my new army friends the blouson I wore, humongous nameplate attached, and amid banter and excited engineering chatter we went to watch a human–preternatural team dismantling the old bridge. They had an enormous crane on a floating platform, and barges to take D-shaped sections as they were lifted clear. There was irony in that the last advantage taken of Lake Celilo was getting crane and barges downstream. The pillars, mostly still underwater, would go as soon as they weren’t. As the penultimate section swung into the air Washington and Oregon arrived by hydrogen-cell coach with state legislators, and we’d just finished greetings when Medicine Wolf showed up, trotting downriver with an approving whuff at the absence of bridge.

I’d let it have tech specs engineers provided, but while medicine men performed a blessing it did some checking, demonstrating hardened earth engineers agreed they’d be happy to gravel and asphalt. The first stage was tricky because when they’d built I84 the railroad had already been there so only the eastbound carriageway was inside it, the westbound being on a causeway beyond a shallow sough. There was also water south of the eastbound carriageway, a bit of what had been ragged shoreline and was now an isolated and stagnant pond. A curve inland had been marked out, and once everyone was sure they were on the same page Medicine Wolf settled on the last westbound section of I84 that would survive, air and water shivered, and after a moment earth began to move.

Seeing roadway subside into river was enjoyably alarming, but the greater interest was the curving bank that formed, filling the sough and cutoff lake. A wide section of steeper slope beyond, a ragged gully marking the end of high basalt cliffs that ran all the way to Celilo Village, began flattening to meet the bank and a sheer-sided cutting developed — soil compacting, rock moving aside, groaning as it contracted, and the exposed sides gleamed, complex with folded strata. Once it reached forty feet in depth an arched roof developed, and the tunnel proper began, gently rising and immediately curving back west. The roadway needed to gain about eighty feet in elevation to match SR143, and Medicine Wolf was providing some two thousand feet of tunnel, for an easy 1 in 24, before new roadbed emerged into daylight. With pure rock to deal with tunnelling accelerated to fifteen or twenty feet a minute, Medicine Wolf walking forward to disappear into darkness. The nerve-rippling fizz of magic became muffled though it pulsed in the earth, massed engineers picked up jaws and went to look with exclamations of wonder, and I asked Skuffles to command general attention.

“I appreciate the warm feelings in your engineering hearts, ladies and gentlemen, but the clock’s ticking, so how about firing up those nice roadlayers? Wolf and fae crews are standing by to help with recycling.”

It took some foot-tapping, but engineers are a timely bunch, by and large, and before long shiny new roadway started to restore I84’s continuity. A crew set off towards Celilo Village, removing lengths of safety barrier, and would take down signs at the defunct exit. Caroline and Penny had been asking engineers questions, but when Caroline saw us talking to Washington and Oregon she headed over.

“Good morning, Governors, Ms Hauptman, Mr Hauptman, Miss Hauptman. Isn’t it extraordinary? Even after everything that’s happened lately I’ve hardly been able to believe my eyes.”

“Good morning to you too, Ms Taylor, and that’s magic for you. Welcome to the Tunnel of Manitou Love.”

Caroline swallowed a laugh. “Is that an official name, Ms Hauptman?”

I grinned, and Jesse snickered.

“Unless anyone really objects. The rail one will be Tunnel Vision, which is snarkier, I grant, but First People like it.”

This time Caroline did laugh, as did governors.

“I see why they would.” Oregon gave a rueful smile. “Trickster politics has a steep learning curve, I’m finding, Ms Hauptman, but keeps us on our toes. Laughter with everything. And I’ll take the chance to say how grateful we are for the remarkable work you did settling the land issues and financial package. A very good deal for everyone, and this amazing protection of the Sacred Space is a fantastic bonus. We’re going to have a lot of engineering pilgrims over the next few years, I’d imagine.”

“Oh yeah. But you know, ma’am, I told Ms Hauptman after her speech to the joint session I’d never seen anyone expropriate several miles of interstate before, let alone get cheered for it. And now it’s a fantastic bonus?” Caroline laughed again. “Of course it is, and that’s Trickster politics too. Is that what you mean by synergy, Ms Hauptman?”

“Not really, Ms Taylor This is just being practical. Synergies are less predictable, especially if magic’s involved.”

Oregon sighed. “And you did predict this, while we stared incredulity.”

“I expect to be doing that quite a bit in the next few years, Ms Hauptman.” Washington had a half-smile. “I’m even looking forward to it, mostly. But I think an army engineer wants you.”

An army engineer did, having discovered the rock of the cutting walls was extremely dense basalt of a kind never yet described. I nodded, observing that rock removed had to go somewhere and greater density provided enormous strength while avoiding spoil. He blinked.

“That’s …”

“Efficient, Colonel? And free, but no kind of automatically available, as we need to remember. By all means talk to Medicine Wolf or Ol’ Manitou River, and feel free to propose projects in their respective basins, but you’ll need better arguments than human desire and convenience. Medicine Wolf is reconfiguring itself permanently — body-piercing, more or less.”

He blinked again. “Ah. I suppose. Thank you.” He stared at the rock in his hand. “Basalt with a density of 7.5 g/cc. Dear Lord. I can think of a dozen things it could make possible. What should we call it, I wonder?”

“Direwolfite?”

He gave a weak grin. “That will do nicely, thank you.”

He wandered off to rejoin equally bemused colleagues, and I got back to trickster politics via the value of direwolfite as a name. It occurred to me that getting Medicine Wolf to provide a pillar of it somewhere people could whack it with a hammer would be wise, if we didn’t want idiots stopping to chisel at walls, and an appalled Oregon added NO STOPPING signs to the list of new ones needed. After she’d spoken to a state official we walked down the eastbound carriageway, speaking to the crew reclaiming safety barrier, and met Irpa coming the other way, the rail-bridge having been reduced to pillars and a convoy heading downstream.

“Hey, Mercy. I prefer building bridges to removing them, but it’s done. And have you seen what Medicine Wolf did for the new bridge?”

I was regaled with an enthusiastic account of instant coffer-dams and magical forms allowing ridiculously rapid pouring of a beautiful concrete arch, with the puzzle of whether what happened after that could be called a cantilever or was just a beam. Most of me couldn’t care less, as long as it worked, but Irpa’s passion made it interesting, and she was equally taken with cutting and tunnel, running a hand over smooth rock and laughing when I told her its new name.

“Good one, Mercy. You sure don’t get rock like this any other way.”

“Trolls are into geology, Ms Thorsden?” Washington sounded genuinely curious. “Because of bridges?”

“And caves. We don’t mine, but do quarry. Rock’s always been handy, and ashlar’s better, however sexy concrete may be.”

The sexiness of concrete occupied us a while, but I was better pleased with visible progress. Lane-marking had started, paint gleaming, and crews were installing a central reservation with power for lights. Roadlayers had disappeared into the tunnel, noise echoing back, and I was saved further concrete rhapsodies when a civil engineer emerged from the tunnel to tell us it was complete and Medicine Wolf onto widening 143. Leaving Caroline behind but acquiring engineers with LED flashlights, we set off up the tunnel, finding daylight visible as soon as were round the opening curve, dodged roadlayers, and did some marvelling at the clean lines. A quick calculation when Jesse asked told me that with four twelve-foot lanes, hard shoulders, and central reservation we were talking a half-circle with a radius of forty feet, meaning some four million cubic feet of rock had been moved aside in — I checked — less than two hours. Nice work if you could get it, which I could, a point Jesse appreciated though Jill and Oregon gave me fisheyes in the gloom.

We emerged into daylight through another cutting with gleaming sides to see Medicine Wolf already a mile further on. SR143 had become slip road, feeding in to the new line of I84, and the land’s profile had been adjusted, rock from the southern, upslope side displaced to level the downslope, providing a wall to the south and a drop to the north. Anywhere else there’d have been animal underpasses, but the double-step of the roadway would keep ordinary beasts south, while the Sacred Space would keep less ordinary ones safely inside.

Adam’s crew was already putting in security fence along the drop to the north, defining the Sacred Space, and there was a sign in the middle of one section.

**CELILO FALLS SACRED SPACE IS PROTECTED,**

**BY LAW, ANIMALS, AND MAGIC.**

**TRESPASSERS WHO AREN’T EATEN**

**_WILL_ BE PROSECUTED.**

PLEASE DO **NOT** FEED THE GRIZZLIES, COUGARS, BOBCATS, RATTLESNAKES, COYOTES, DEER, MOOSE, OR ELK.

The wording was Coyote’s, with the graphic design setting up the doubletake, but we’d all liked the joke, and Irpa hooted when she read it. Engineers were grinning, governors appreciated trickster politics some more, and you couldn’t say we weren’t being upfront.

“On the same principle as the pillar of direwolfite, we’ll put a fancier one in Biggs Junction so people can take selfies.” I looked at Oregon. “And your call, ma’am, but it occurred to me the diner and gas station wouldn’t object to a sign a mile east that said it’s the last halt before Celilo Falls Sacred Space, where there’s no stopping for however many miles.”

Oregon added to her list, and once we’d thanked the fencing crew, and set about catching Medicine Wolf, Jesse and Irpa started suggesting more. _Beware of low-flying Thunderbird_ was probably not necessary, nor _Please do not feed the salmon_ , but warning about ambient magic was sensible, and not climbing or damaging trees that would soon be growing upslope as well as inside the fence. Oregon wanted commemorative plaques crediting Medicine Wolf and me, and couldn’t be persuaded to leave me out but agreed to include Elder Spirits. She also wanted a display at the Deschutes River State Recreation Area, saying what could be said about Celilo Falls and its history. There were plenty of old photos up on Wiki or local history sites, but I referred her to Dan Strongbear, warning he would want images minimal and Yakama on staff.

Jill and I were kicking it around, trying to explain the way someone like Dan thought, when Caroline caught us, having fast-talked her way through the tunnel, and asked about the sign. Then we all caught Medicine Wolf, and conversation lapsed. Visible movement of rock and earth, morphing and hardening into readiness for tarmac, was an absorbing fascination. Skuffles was half-drunk on washes of magic, for which I couldn’t blame her — it was very strong, and the swirling patterns of power imposing preferred order would have been mesmerising if I’d let myself sink into them. I picked out the sequence of mobilisation, remoulding, and resetting with focused magmatic heat, and a quick hand to the earth confirmed it was much warmer than weather could explain, but once I’d seen it repeat I pulled out, damping senses to offer Caroline commentary. Irpa reckoned what was moving was being compacted by about ten percent, and an engineer added that the surface was cambered in a way he thought British, looking askance when Jesse laughed.

“You’re exactly right, sir. We have a Brit in the pack, and we’ve all heard … diatribes covers it, about US roads having an appalling lack of camber. When he heard we’d be building new interstate he demanded to speak to Medicine Wolf.”

Ben had, reining in expletives but intense about this particular hobby-horse, and as proper drainage and banking are always better than not, while standing puddles are a nuisance even if they don’t freeze into menace I’d arranged it. It had implications for the way US-made cars abused suspensions, dear to any mechanic’s heart, so while observing general US specs, camber had been added to UK specs, and as it turned out Oregon was happy to have signs about that too, while Washington, proud of very low road fatality stats, suggested adding reprofiling to all resurfacing. A grinning Adam gave him Ben’s number.

“Now _that’s_ synergy, Ms Taylor. We happen to have a British wolf big on camber who bent Medicine Wolf’s ear, while the governor has an eye on how safe Washington drivers are and Montana drivers aren’t. Rub together, and hey presto, a statewide — bistate? — bistate road improvement initiative. I’ve never been to the UK, but apparently there’s a corner near Swindon that makes you want to turn and go round it again.”

“Really?”

“So I’m told. The wolf in question swears by it, and has never met an American corner he didn’t despise.”

“Right. And you’ve never been to the UK. Huh. I bet not many of the last dozen presidents could say that. May I ask where you have been?”

“Canada, Mexico, and Greece for two weeks when I was at Wazzu. Classical history trip. Until recently overseas cost too much.”

“That I get. Being co-Alpha ties you down, too, I’d guess.”

“Some, yeah, though being two gives us short-term flexibility.”

“Un huh. I know you won’t make assumptions, but are you looking forward to travelling more.”

“I guess. Carbon footprints need thinking about, but if this happens I’ll surely be seeing new places, always interesting.”

“Is the UK high on the list? Traditional allies, and so on?”

“Not especially, Ms Taylor. A Brit annoyed me not long ago, so I’m not feeling much like heading that way. A history holiday somewhere would be nice, though, and if Asil stays in Spain I’ll probably go there.”

That shifted conversation to Asil, whose diplomacy among European wolves had become public when he co-chaired a meeting between wolves and EU people. Adam had heard the political slap at the Brits’ oafish Prime Minister, giving me an appreciative look, and with any luck so would the Oaf. I might have an Anglo half but my only special relationships were with people.

SR143 paralleled the old I84 and river for several miles, but west of Celilo Village swung south, and with ploughed fields appearing Medicine Wolf shifted pattern, creating all new roadway on the northern side. The drop became higher, and where 143 passed the farmhouse responsible for the ploughing it provided an exit and bent the line north, raising the wall. The farmer was the only person inconvenienced by the new route, and that plus compensation for increased traffic noise were part of the deal. The wall would muffle it, but with a natural cliff only yards north room for manoeuvre was limited. After a wiggle back south, with access from the farm, there was another straight stretch, then a major deviation. We’d dropped twenty feet or so from the tunnel exit, but a sixty-foot drop was needed to rejoin I84, and 143 did it with a sprawling double-S-bend that took it to the west bank of the Deschutes. Medicine Wolf ignored that, save to provide an exit when it abandoned 143, and sank I84 into a second tunnel that would over a mile-and-a-half drop the necessary height and more, at 1 in 24, go under the Deschutes confluence, and rise to rejoin existing I84 a quarter-mile west. It took nearly four hours, and though most engineers followed Medicine Wolf, waving LED flashlights and cameras, the rest of us stopped at the entrance, and with Brent, Jill, and Irpa I used the cloak to collect a Benny’s preorder for a welcome lunch.

In the distance we could see roadlayers leapfrogging one another towards us, and conversation was about the efficiencies and side-effects of concentrating effort, with meditative reflection. For most humans, including governors, it was the first time they’d been close to serious, sustained magic, and seeing was believing. I knew Medicine Wolf was willing to reduce carbon footprints, and enjoyed doing new things, but what that would translate into was anyone’s guess. There wasn’t much call for new highways within the Basin, but Washington and Oregon had a lot of iffy mountain roads that could do with widening. Maps were produced, and engineers who’d preferred pizza got in on the discussion.

Skuffles trotted around examining the land between Carlisle Spring and the cliffs overlooking the Deschutes Confluence. It was dull scrubland, but that would be changing before Friday, and I spent a while talking with Jesse, who had her next intranet to think about. We could see most of the triangle that was Sacred Space, sloping down to the old I84, cliffs to the east, lower bluffs behind Celilo Village. Escarpments cut across it, remnants of erosion during the Cascades Orogeny, and though I didn’t understand the hydrology I knew they had mattered to Medicine Wolf and Underhill in planning irrigation. We could make out Wishram clearly, crowds still dense though they had nothing to see.

_There is not much soil for trees._

“Medicine Wolf will take care of that.”

_How?_

“Breaking up the rock and adding water, I think, but maybe Underhill has old mulch available.”

Skuffles gave me a look, Jesse grinned, and we talked interlocking things needed to reforest rocky slopes until there was something to see. A section of I84 began to vanish, tarmac compacted into rock as the tunnel became a long cutting, rejoining the old road, and with exits to the Celilo–Wasco Highway it was done. Engineers waving LED flashlights, we all walked through the tunnel, marvelling anew at clean lines — save for a single vertical etched into walls at the deepest point, marking the thalweg dividing Wasco and Sherman Counties.

We emerged into daylight to find Jim and other Yakama dancing around a cheerful Medicine Wolf. Jim had been overseeing contractors installing barriers restricting access to the remnant of I84, now the Sacred Space Spur, signs declaring that only First People, Preternaturals, and those invited by Yakama elders could enter, on penalty of prosecution, with warnings about magic and animals. I knew what today meant to Jim and wouldn’t have interrupted, but he turned and gave a bow.

“I did not think I would ever see this day, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, and can hardly hear myself think for the spirits’ dancing.”

_They will calm when they have explored my new shape._

“I dare say, Medicine Wolf, but as I feel much more like dancing than thinking, it is well enough.”

“There’s still tomorrow, Jim. I’d save the dancing for Friday.”

“I can still dance for a week.”

“And welcome, but count me out.”

Next day, after attending early service and avoiding the excitements of another sermon, I went back, only Skuffles with me besides guards. Medicine Wolf started at the Deschutes end, giving the Union Pacific mainline, running through the Gorge, a second tunnel under the Deschutes, while the BNSF freight line that picked up the Deschutes valley eighty miles south and followed it to the confluence, got a third that merged with the other under the ridge. The wider tunnel then gained height over nearly six miles, about which even BNSF’s massive trains could not complain, a graceful bend aligning it with the old tracks beyond the western end of the Tunnel of Manitou Love. The new bridge was nearly finished, sections of the old being slotted into place, and Union Pacific and BNSF had track-laying engines at work as soon as there were tunnels, so while checks were ongoing there was consensus road and railway could reopen Tuesday, as promised, and under budget — already laughably low.

In the cool evening I found myself in the Celilo Village longhouse, talking to some happy Nez Perce from Kooskia about plans to rebuild in proper style and salmon. The village had once been a town with seasonal population spikes, but with the Falls gone it had become one street by an interstate, the last census recording only forty-odd residents. What it would become was unclear, but they’d been looking hard at sonar maps of terrain still under water and talking to elders who remembered. One or two had been wondering about the slopes at the bottom of the bluffs, but I reminded them those would be forested by Friday, and got owlish looks.

“Truly, She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars? I have heard this said, and am learning better than to disbelieve you, but … mature trees? Like those that shield you and the Freed from image-stealers?”

“Truly, sir, though those are all oaks, and we’ll have a mix here. Underhill doesn’t do evergreens, but there’ll be ash, beech, rowan, and alder. Open enough for large animals, dense enough to get lost in. I doubt we can make the Falls completely unphotographable, but cameras are so not going to work around here.”

“Large animals? Elder Spirits are serious about that?”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“No reason, but it was Coyote who said it.”

I laughed. “Jesse has my often-dastardly Da behaving quite reasonably these days. And they’re all onboard — you’ll have serious biodiversity, but don’t ask me how it’s going to work as an ecosystem if wolves and cougars aren’t hunting deer, moose, and elk. From what Raven was saying this morning you’ll probably have to feed them.”

An elderly Yakama woman laughed, and raised a glass to me. “President-soon-to-be-elect She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It. I’ve hardly dared think it, but it’s really happening, isn’t it?” She laughed again. “When the young bucks get back to shooting the falls in canoes, we should call it the Coyote Ride — first you race along, then the river drops out from beneath you.”

“Right,” I told her. “How else are you going to say hello properly to salmon heading the other way?”


	60. Chapter 60

**Chapter Sixty**

I spent some of Monday catching up with the heavyweight papers, which published pretty diagrams of where I84 and the railways now were. Engineers are a pragmatic bunch but Medicine Wolf had stirred them up, and during the week I gave a long interview to the _Civil Engineering Journal_ repeating warnings about taking manitous for granted. Faced with technical queries I rang Medicine Wolf, who was happy to come by and tell the startled interviewer all sorts of things about direwolfite. It had been amused by my asking for a pillar of the stuff at Biggs Junction, and thought a request from Oregon and Washington to widen mountain roads offered an interesting challenge.

_Until Mercy asked me I had no reason to create tunnels, but reshaping rock so precisely is satisfying. I am thinking about what else I could do, and providing animal overpasses is the most urgent need._

A really interesting discussion followed of how existing roads might be lowered into cuttings that closed over them, adding _entunnelling_ to my vocabulary and pleasing Coyote no end. Beyond that, with my tour complete and only days to the re-emergence, I stayed regional, seeing excitement build as First People began to migrate towards the Gorge. Most would arrive Thursday, in convoys from Browning and the Crow Agency, and the media had finally understood this week really did matter to First People, so there was plenty of coverage.

The steady appearance overnight, on the arid triangle of land Elder Spirits had claimed, of acres of mature trees both intensified everyone’s feelings and hushed them with awe, while letting me talk about just how much carbon self-planting trees could capture fast. Uninhabited Miller Island, just upstream of Celilo Falls, was a prime opportunity, and acquired a young forest — literally, the trees all being saplings. So did arid areas between Wishram, Maryhill Winery and Museum, and Horsethief Lake, cutting off the view of Celilo Falls from Lewis-and-Clark Highway. Dan Strongbear was so happy he agreed to a display at the Deschutes River SRA, and most Yakama elders were content to blunt Second People’s curiosity in a reasonable and respectful manner.

The woods alarmed any number of botanists, who told everyone with great concern that even with the new soil I’d mentioned trees would die for lack of water. But Medicine Wolf was taking care of irrigation, and made its new Engineer friends happy all over again by requesting they turn on their 3-D printers and providing some specs. The kit was simple one-way valves, a foot in diameter, and once selkies emplaced them in tunnels that opened well below where the river surface would come to rest, on the north-eastern end of Miller Island, the bank of the narrow channel to its north, and the south bank of the bend after the Deschutes confluence, the current drove the distribution system, topping it up as trees drank. It was efficient, simple, and as cool an example of human-preternatural co-operation as anyone could ask for. And as _I_ told everyone, Underhill agreeing with me about Brocéliande and magical forests in general, these woods would be mildly perilous. They had enough slow time about them to be growing all but visibly, and Elder Spirits would be using them with their children. The trees had glamour, and besides the cloaking effects electronics should not be relied on around them. The woods were small, but people should get used to the idea, as there would soon be bigger ones.

With far less publicity mature trees also appeared around some army and federal facilities within the Basin. The deal had taken careful negotiation, but trees really did want space and Underhill was happy for me to leverage it to compel accelerated transition to hybrids and fully electric cars, and reduction of carbon footprint. The military were willing, in principle, to concede those things, defeat of satellite imaging being a major plum. But the Fae were the Fae, so things had to balance, meaning a formula equating trees up with pollution down, which could only be arbitrary but had to be sufficiently logical for both sides. I’d handed the problem off to Darryl, whom it amused, and he’d invented an equation using security rating of the base, the number of trees, and percentage reduction in energy use and emissions, with ways of measuring them. COs had to swear it, and though we worked out a wiggle about changes of command a fae-enforceable penalty of two years hard labour Overhill planting trees gave real teeth. The Pentagon was very happy, and while no-one was saying anything public word spread where it mattered.

Incoming animals were another excitement. As fencing was completed, warning notices attracting excited media, Elder Spirits used oversize animal forms and avatars to escort creatures in. We’d given a lot of heads-ups, but when a way oversize grizzly, cougar, wolf, coyote, deer, moose, elk, and rattler escort numerous regular-sized versions on direct routes to the same place, humans get heebie-jeebies and PDs of whom escort is requested frozen expressions. Then again, animals weren’t so impressed with humans either, as Elder Spirits let them know.

The stream of arrivals commanded global attention, and as they were converging from all directions places that rarely made any kind of news found themselves getting their fifteen minutes. Animals from the south were mostly coming up the Deschutes Valley, and there was a seriously weird photo-op when converging cougars, deer, coyotes, and a stray moose grabbed a ride on empty flatbeds attached to a BNSF freight train, disembarking when it reached its new tunnel. Those from the north had to cross the Columbia at Biggs Junction or The Dalles, and Jill, Skuffles, and I joined a score of avatars shepherding a wary mix of creatures as they used the I97 bridge, closed to let them pass, then the hard shoulder of I84. Wolf and Cougar were doing as much at The Dalles, and I84’s inner lanes were closed, drivers streaming slowly past in the outer with bemused expressions. We had media like fleas on a dog, and everyone on any number of legs heaved sighs of relief when we reached Sacred Space and traffic vanished into the Tunnel of Manitou Love. I gave yet another interview explaining once more what would happen on Friday, and confirming that reborn Celilo Falls would be unphotographable. My consistent refusal of requests to draw Excalibur had laid groundwork, and though I didn’t think of it in those terms the _NYT_ told me next day I’d thrown my political credit behind sacred meaning sacred, period, and made it stick. What was happening was for First People, and would happen by their rules.

Then I watched Elder Spirits doing some last collective magic before animals scattered to explore their new home. Early arrivals had swollen the population of Celilo Falls, and there were elderly RVs and tents dotted around. A fire burned cheerfully as soon as the animals left, and the loom of the trees had already cast a spell. Magic whispered all around as spirits danced, and First People responded by dancing themselves, achingly slow shuffles and occasional leaps of welcome and joy. Jill and I talked to avatars, intrigued by the role she’d accepted, ambivalent about the fame it brought her, and wanting assessments of vamp progress.

Wiseman had had to authorise his first prosecution for damage to a donor, but on the upside several translocators were augmenting Federal SWAT and training with Special Forces. Regular medical checks on donors were catching problems early, so their death-rate had plummeted, not that accurate figures were available for the past, and there was a National Vampire Council, on which Wulfe, Marsilia, Stefan, and Thomas sat with a dozen masters and mistresses. Their business was the vamp-federal interface, with what vamps would and wouldn’t do, but they were facing up to my demands about examining history, if only because I’d gone on pushing. It was still mostly helping Italian Police and scholars from all over to interpret the Bonarata Papers, and real accounts would take a while, but interim reports had begun, some making very queasy reading, and any number of journalists were scribbling Bonarata biographies.

Too much vamps was a damper, and we got back to avatar opportunities. Fred and Hank were there, and military service always an option, but my election would open state and federal employment in a new way, and, however they remained wary of being out many had families, so good salaries and health insurance were attractions. That meant a disinclination to move, so local jobs, the North-West leading, mattered, but some were willing to travel, and I wanted avatar Buffalo Rangers for interactions with Ol’ Manitou River, with instinctive understanding of ecosystems.

The evening shifted something in my mind, because it was a first real flowering of reborn culture. New arrivals kept turning up, faces lighting and bodies dancing as they felt the magic, though the noises as wolves and coyotes explored kept people twitching. There were dozens of tribes represented and no Second People — I was as Anglo as anything there, which didn’t feel very Anglo at all, and somewhere bone- and heart-deep the respect everyone gave me felt right, for the first time. Spearpoints aren’t much use without hafts behind them, I’d drawn on every being I could, and without Medicine Wolf nothing, but even so the Sacred Space was in a tangible sense my achievement, and more than Coyote had let it be known. At 34 you didn’t get to be an elder, but that was the slot I was in, and with spirit magic tickling everything my blood sang with the knowledge. I was feeling very First Person when I got home, as well as amorous, and Adam got some overdue benefits.

Media next day showed some resentment at their exclusion, and Fox were so snarky I sent registered supporters an email asking them to make my displeasure known and providing eddresses. Other media were tracking those emails so the story broke rapidly, and I hadn’t only suggested complaining to Fox execs, though they got inboxes hundreds of screens deep. So did cable providers, asking them to drop Fox from standard bundles if they didn’t want a lot of customer switching, and before evening a volley of supporting statements from tribes all over turned Fox’s accelerating panic into the lead story. More flexible Bible-belters joined in, alarmingly quoting the Lord from Exodus on taking away His hand to reveal His hinder parts while His face shall not be seen. Medicine Wolf’s involvement and the simple truth that sacred means sacred overcame the fact that it was someone else’s Sacred Space, and the public were beginning to feel bullish about people power, so Fox’s usual aggression in defending displays of bigotry did them some real damage, and I gave myself a coyote point for opportunism.

More pleasingly, most Second People were broadly respectful, if sullen, and the point was underlined Thursday night when three British tabloid hacks, from a paper owned by the man who owned Fox, faked a breakdown and managed to scale the fencing, triggering alarms and cameras, only to find themselves confronted by an irate grizzly and cougar working in tandem. Their equipment suffered damage, as did clothing, though not their persons save scratches and bruises, and with assistance from a second grizzly, three rattlers, and a pair of moody elk giving the cougar fisheyes they were herded to the longhouse and handed over to very angry and whatever the adjective is from _schadenfreude_ tribal authorities. Intriguingly, on the fence and longhouse cameras human and animal figures were clear but background fogged, and the sequence was running continuously on most stations Friday morning.

Gordon still wasn’t showing his human face on TV, but as Thunderbird in full attended a hearing in the longhouse, a scrambled Caroline providing coverage. He snapped his beak at a finding of wilful desecration by trespass, aggravated by commercial motive, and again at the imposition of swingeing fines, confiscation of equipment, and remission to federal custody on charges newly specified in state and federal law. He also approved a Yakama demand that custodial sentences be served here with hard labour, and the expressions on the idiots’ faces as they realised their skyped-in lawyers uniformly expected there to be such sentences offered a bleak satisfaction of sorts.

Leslie had been tapped as federal liaison, and having observed swift justice accepted custody of prisoners, had them cuffed, and let them watch Thunderbird drop all confiscated equipment into the Columbia, which shot up a waterspout to meet it, sitting everyone up and giving me my first laugh of the day. Leslie capped events by giving a memorable speech about Feeb impatience with pure stupidity that would have gone viral even before she offered the animals, observing from the treeline, thanks for timely vigilantism, promising citations for valour. Sheer surprise at the courtesy restored even Gordon’s good humour, and the image of an African-American SAC commanding Amerindian and preternatural respect was a very happy one.

The Man was still laughing when he arrived for breakfast, yet again, having flown in overnight. Sawyer was with him, equally amused but deeply thoughtful at the demonstration that animals could be weaponised.

“I don’t think my advertising Da was joking last year, Mr Secretary. He may have got the idea from Terry Gilliam, but he’s not wrong having a hunter or two killed by massed rabbits would send a strong signal. I expect they’ll reserve it for protecting bison though.”

Sawyer and the Man stared at one another, and Jesse gave me a look.

“Seriously, Mom?”

“Well, maybe not rabbits, because it’d probably traumatise them, but predators and bigger ungulates, you bet. Hardcore trophy loons will need discouraging. Which reminds me, sir — does the Department of Transportation have anyone in charge of roadkill issues? The Traffic Safety people only do humans.”

“Not that I’m aware of, Ms Hauptman. Huh. Point.”

“You’ve been giving me ideas, sir. Reorganising federal government hadn’t occurred to me before, but new posts do focus things.”

They also had dangers, and we talked about that before the Man switched topics.

“The British PM called about those reporters, citing prisoner exchange protocols.” He gave a sharkish grin. “He linked what he called obviously biased treatment to your having taken a dislike to him.”

“Somebody told him what I said to Caroline Taylor?”

“Surely. He’s stupid, but their ambassador isn’t, and he was listening to that teleconference. There are idiots who get elected by idiots, but also very serious people on their team.”

I nodded. “I’m not going to mess with anything that matters. The Oaf just told me I didn’t have to respect _him_ , personally. Have someone tell the ambassador the serious people should make an effort to contact the great manitou of the Thames Basin? Or the, whatsit, Severn? A very tidal manitou ought to keep the Oaf busy for the duration.”

The Man laughed. “Already did, Ms Hauptman, and I have every hope the Oaf will have an interesting year. It’s a good name for him.”

We spoke of simpler things going to the Gorge, using the Freed’s coach with a Secret Service driver, because Penny was there for _Living Free and Moonbound_. And as the Man wasn’t kidding about his interest in the Freed, she got a spectacular segment. He’d been this way visiting The Dalles two months back, and whistled when he saw dense verdure on Miller Island and the northern rise of the Gorge.

“Magic forests, yet.”

“You bet, sir. Only little ones, though Celilo Forest packs a punch, but big woods as soon as we can. Faulkner would approve.”

“I imagine. Are people going to get lost in them?”

“Probably. Happens with big woods. But animals need them, and so do we, even without carbon capture.”

He shook his head. “Can’t argue, Ms Hauptman. We need new priorities, and you get to play with them for a while. It’ll settle down after a bit, and someone safely dull can succeed you, but for this phase your kind of sideways is perfect.”

That was a thought to chew on, and I stored it away as we were cleared through to the Sacred Space Spur, now a parking lot. Besides many Chiefs, collected from Tri-Cities Airport by coach, every First Person in the Basin seemed to have arrived ; inner lanes each way were a solid line of battered pickups, SUVs, and RVs, with a scattering of saloons, and I thought getting First People into hybrids and electrics would be an interesting challenge. Even before we arrived the place was crowded yet quiet with breathless sacred excitement that I decided was the spirits’ version of _spannungsbogen_.

I’m not going to describe what happened in any detail — sacred does mean sacred, period — but if in one sense it wasn’t magic at all, just engineering allowing the water level to drop to where it should always have stayed, and cliffs in the river-bed to function again as they had for millennia, in another it was the purest, most intense spirit magic I’ve ever felt. Humans were aware of something, preternaturals felt it more, ap Lugh was as wide-eyed as I’ve ever seen, magical senses intent as power gathered and flowed, and Charles as goofy as Skuffles had been on Medicine Wolf’s earth-moving. Caroline and Penny filmed preliminary formalities, with general diplomacy between the Man, many Chiefs, and senior preternaturals, though Bran was still camera-shy so Charles took point for wolves. Preternatural oaths affirming the Sacred Space as a place of strictly peaceful meeting were recorded, and Al and Dwayne could film faces as other things happened — often silently tearful, happily so yet with long memories of injustice and loss. Then cameras were turned off, the real ceremony happened, and the endgame was Salmon and avatars leaping up a small Fall steadily heightening.

Everyone was left in a sated euphoric daze, extended for me by being introduced, with Adam and Jesse, to the guardian animals who’d nabbed the idiot reporters. Jill had me used to grizzlies, after a fashion, but being greeted by wild ones was a trip, never mind by cougars, elk, and their halitosis. I pulled myself together to get around assembled chiefs I hadn’t yet met, putting faces to names and finding they were being very efficient on their own as well as my behalves. Medicine Wolf was circulating, reading widely, and with the absurd mix of beings I kept being reminded of those old paintings of the Garden of Eden exaltedly imagining lions lying down with lambs, rabbits with foxes, deer with wolves, while hawks roosted by doves and every kind co-existed peacefully — and though it was only here, in the Sacred Space, all the world going on as usual outside, that was pretty good, as the Man agreed when he thanked me for the invitation.

“Not many presidents get to go out on a high, and I know there’s the Cascadia ’quake yet. I guess Miss Hauptman takes care of some of this for you, but remember you have a large and steadily increasing number of very grateful living, as well as your grateful dead.”

I nodded, more rueful than not. “I do know, sir, but the dead have already been done their favours and don’t confuse them with entitlement.”

He raised his glass. “Hold that thought.”


	61. Chapter 61

**Chapter Sixty-One**

The Cascadia evacuation was something else, but we collectively got it done, just. People were mostly trying to be good-natured and patient, but crawling along highways for miles saps sanity, and as children get cranky tempers fray. People are also amazingly capable of stupidity, and despite clear advice for months about what to pack, including my Public Service Announcements, they still failed to have spare gas or sufficient water, and to get cars serviced. By the Friday it was clear that my most useful contribution was as a roving gas station and hit mechanic, using the cloak and a squad including Zee, Tad, Irpa and Vanna, and Ramona with a bunch of Freed. If whatever had gone wrong could be fixed it was, and if not wolves and trolls moved dead vehicles out of everyone’s way, while the stranded were collected by PDs, handed sizeable bills, and seen to safety inland. Anywhere east of I5 should be survivable away from anything that could fall on you, but people headed all over by air and road, as well as packing every motel for a thousand miles, and many were taking advantage to stage family and other reunions.

Campaigning was suspended, but my hit squad meant a running interface with PDs and caught media attention. As airports emptied for the final time and fell silent, focus shifted to epic traffic congestion and the oddity of seeing all lanes eastbound, interspersed with final tie-downs of major museums and the like. And as luck would have it there was a crew filming near the site of a chain fender bender on I10 that left half-a-dozen cars locked together across two lanes, drivers shouting pointless recriminations until Irpa and Vanna separated all cars with brisk yanks, folded a couple of detached fenders in half and half again, handed them to owners with troll smiles, and politely suggested everyone note insurance details and get moving again, more carefully. There was honking applause from backed-up vehicles, and I gave an interview about keeping traffic moving so people could be somewhere safe in time that annoyed Senator Less Stupid, who’d secured his party’s nomination and grumbled about a breach of the moratorium, but no-one else minded.

My other rivals had dropped out one-by-one with funding problems, among others, and Senator Snake Oil managed to cap his political suicides by losing a one-horse race. He went to his party’s conference assuming the nomination was his only to find they refused to endorse him, preferring — as a New England delegate remarked — not to vote now for a damned fool they wouldn’t be supporting in November. Basin-state governors moved a refusal to nominate, which to the National Committee’s horror passed. The Man had a purer sense of _schadenfreude_ , and was clear it couldn’t have happened to anyone more deserving, but I was better pleased by the consequences. Failing to nominate was a radical step, and rather than going home many delegates stayed, talking and honest-to-God thinking. The Man and I were increasingly happy with grassroots activism in both parties, and the way green consciousness and demands for stronger engagement with new realities were pushing at entrenched corporate and financial controls was heartening, however there remained a long road to anything workable.

It left a large burden on Senator Less Stupid, and as I thought an election should be a contest it seemed wise to be as helpful as I could. The Man with ostentatious fairness invited us both, with running mates, Washington, Oregon, and California, to the Ground Zero command centre at an Air Force Base in southern Oregon, combining USGS seismology with the Pentagon’s satellite resources, which would broadcast primary assessments in real time. Adam and Jesse came but stayed off-camera with Rachel, which Frank and I couldn’t, and Skuffles didn’t want to. Medicine Wolf came by to say hello soon after I arrived, warning us it would be invisible during its labours and for an unknown while thereafter, wholly absorbed in the task, but not, it promised with a wolf grin, intending any further nap in its depths. Then it girded its loins, more or less, gave me a look when I wished it luck, and vanished, leaving us to endure a nervy wait.

After all the reassurances to camera we could muster coverage went back to the USGS explaining the Cascadia Subduction Zone, vastly improved modelling Medicine Wolf made possible, and infinite uncertainties that remained. With the camera off others could join us, and Jesse saved me and the Man any amount of polite small talk by engaging Senator Less Stupid about policies affecting kiddos, scrupulously not assuming any November outcome by basing what she said on the probability of her intranets continuing throughout her senior year, and (without mentioning Georgetown) the need for Others 201 and research degrees. Initially wary, the Senator was drawn in by genuine interest and swiftly charmed, even before Jesse deftly widened the conversation to include everyone. Doing intranets had taught her a lot, or made real things she’d understood from Adam and me in theory. There were reasons Adam was a very successful businessman, as coyote dancing had taught me all sorts of odd steps, and somewhere along the hard path she’d had to take Jesse had stitched it together in a style all her own. Not many seventeen-year-olds with green hair make the cover of _Time_ , and she was showing us why when alarms rang.

The trigger was a swarm of deep, increasingly powerful ’quakes that had USGS people hopping as they ran models, and sixteen minutes later the Cascadia Subduction Zone did some overdue subducting, first at its northern end and six minutes later the southern — two major ’quakes registering 7.9 and 8.1, that made the floor slap feet hard and rattled the building, followed by three more in the 5s and a tremble of lesser aftershocks. Separate seismic activity at Yellowstone suggested Ol’ Manitou River had done something, but that had to wait because there were three more mid-7s much further south, on the White Wolf, Garlock and San Andreas faults, aftershocks declining into 3s.

There were bad moments, but the tenor of USGS commentary held down alarm. With nothing above 8.1 most buildings were safe, though windows were broken and rooftiles dislodged, but more than one stretch of elevated freeway collapsed, and the coast was another story because the land dropped almost fifteen feet in some places, and at least four all the way from SF to Vancouver. Beaches and oceanfront houses went, far more on the outer Pacific coast of Washington and Vancouver Island than on Puget Sound, to Seattle’s relief, and over the next day tsunamis would do damage around the Pacific, though it was hoped with little loss of life as everyone else had done some evacuating too.

As aftershocks subsided USGS commentary built into deeply positive appreciation. They said flat-out they’d be analysing what had happened for years, but what they were seeing was a highly abnormal pattern that had bled off critical energy from the first big ’quake, at once dissipating it down into the mantle, reducing the mass that was hung up, and inducing a crabwise advance that divided the main ’quake. Without all that their best guess was that a single event would have hit maybe 8.8 or .9, turning major urban areas into debris fields, and releases on the San Andreas system had eliminated a chunk of deficits, sheared a dozen highways, and moved another section of coast three feet west. Magma was confirmed as flowing away from Yellowstone, heading down, and the main chamber had lost a measurable fraction of its reservoir. It was all amazingly better than not, despite a multi-billion-dollar bill for repairs and real estate.

As coverage of the new coastline from USN and USAF assets began to occupy airtime, the Man went national, congratulating everyone on an optimal outcome, saluting Medicine Wolf with the nation’s heartfelt gratitude, and telling citizens to stay firmly put while massed state and federal agencies, with tens of thousands of service personnel, did their things, clearing debris, dealing with hazards, mapping new coastline, and closing or reopening roads. He also took the chance to remind everyone, as if they needed it, that the whole wise insanity had been born of a question I’d asked Medicine Wolf while scrambling to whack Cantrip yet keep everything else non-violent, and Sawyer’s immediate grasp of possibility. Finally he signed off, wishing his fellow Americans a peaceful and greatly relieved good night. Off-air I welcomed back Adam, Jesse, and Rachel, and heaved a long sigh. Washington quirked an eyebrow.

“As bad as all that, Ms Hauptman?”

“Just relief, sir. There were no guarantees on this one, but it looks like Medicine Wolf gets an A+ in earthquake wrangling.” I was sorry about the coast, but the whole problem was that land had risen over three centuries as snagged plate buckled, so it was always going to drop. “It’s really let us dodge a bullet.”

“Oh yeah. I was braced for worse. But you’ve been so very confident.”

“That’s leadership.” The Man rolled his head. “I take out the small change in a stiff neck and headaches. But damn, it was worth it.” He tipped me a salute. “I ought to give you another medal.”

“Oh hush.” He grinned, and as the Presidential Medal of Freedom he’d given me on Independence Day had come with Presidential Citizen Medals for Adam, Jesse, Irpa, Vanna, Jill, Joel, and Coyote, citing Gateway Park, I only flapped a hand. “It was very kind of you, sir, and goes nicely on my Corps of Engineers blouson, but this wasn’t valorous. Give the medal to Medicine Wolf.”

He laughed. “If only. God knows it’s deserved. And how _do_ we reward a great manitou, other than keeping its basin clean and rivers undammed?”

“Don’t ask me. I have the same problem with the oak that got di Ragusa. It’s thinking about whether it would like a name, apparently, but beyond that I’m stumped. And Medicine Wolf has never asked for anything except people to read and a cell phone. Even meals are out, that form not being equipped to digest.” I brightened. “Mind you, I could ask it to manifest in a form that is, and do some serious cooking.”

Amid more laughter, Senator Less Stupid, observing with taut interest and as happy as everyone with the outcome, leant forward.

“I’ve wondered about the manitous each having only one avatar, Ms Hauptman. Is there anything you can tell me about that?”

“Of course, Senator, but the one’s just what you see. The manitous I’ve met all have multiple forms. Even Guayota couldn’t wholly leave Mount Teide, only split a part of itself off, which was one reason it was so unstable. How many forms it has on Tenerife I have no idea, but Medicine Wolf has many avatars at any given time, in different forms, doing business with itself and whomever. Ol’ Manitou River too, as far as I know — and we might see a different avatar when bison get roaming. But I had a talk with Medicine Wolf early on about multiple manifestations, and we decided that just one to interface with humans would work better.”

He blinked. “You could have asked it to bring on its dire-wolfpack?”

I grinned. “Pretty much. I thought having one fifteen-foot dire wolf to ask not to murder me was plenty.”

“Huh. We agree about something preternatural, Ms Hauptman.” He shook his head. “And you’re going to beat me like a drum in November, aren’t you? I’m not really running at all, just taking one for the team.”

I winced. “Maybe. I can’t honestly say I’m sorry, but I have a great deal more respect for you than for Senator Snake Oil, while honest defeat is no dishonour. And you have fewer constraints than you would in a … normal election. Some interesting freedom.” I hesitated, but he’d opened the door. “I have noticed your restraint in using attack ads.”

“What would be the point, Ms Hauptman? I’ve seen on the stump that I can disagree with your priorities, and regret some of your … style, but I cannot question your sincerity or insult you without being told to cease and desist, in no uncertain fashion.” He shrugged. “You’ve given people a dream I can’t begin to match, and don’t especially want to impugn, however I think business-owners are going to be left deeper in your green lurch than their employees.”

“That depends, Senator. If you mean the fattest cats of big whatever, you bet. But people lower down, not if I can help it.” I made a decision. “Keep your campaign clean, and if I win and you’re at a loose end a door will be open to you to help make sure I can.”

He stared at me. “You’re serious?”

“Why not? You make a valid point. There’s a question about co-operation and competition, and how we do one without letting lack of the other raise prices needlessly. Capitalism works really well for some things, and not at all for the planet, so we have to change, but babies, bathwater.”

The Man spoke softly. “She means it, and she’s completely straight despite all the strange, if you haven’t worked that out.” He looked at me. “I intend to sleep for a year and a day, and do a great deal of kicking back and turning music up, but with the do-not-crowd-successors rule there’s also the always-take-their-calls rule. What you need, you’ll get.”

I absorbed that. “Are you retiring, or just recuperating?”

“The latter. Job offers entertained, though preferably not like the one you made Excalibur.”

“Hey! That was down to you, sir, as much as anyone. You pushed me to run, and everything else came from that.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m still trying to process. Light the blue touch paper, they say, and stand well back.” He looked at the Senator. “I was fairly sure the missing preternatural kind was vamps, and hoped she might find a way forward, because Fae and Wolves clearly had a problem I only half-understood, if that, but since then I’ve been … hah, flabbergasted. I’ve wanted to use that word for years.” I couldn’t stop a laugh. “Right, but I mean it, Ms Hauptman.” His gaze returned to the Senator. “ _Can you maybe do something about this?_ I implied, hoping she could nudge someone, and she came back with a global plan that had Fae, Wolf, and Elder Spirit support and minimised probable casualties on all sides. A little later I realised she’d made herself into walking bait on a rational assessment of the chances and everyone’s behalf. Insanely dangerous pie-in-the-sky. Except she delivered, three times over. What’s a man to do?”

“I hear you, Mr President.” The senator frowned. “It’s clear elected representatives need to keep preternatural issues in mind, but there’s no system for ensuring data is shared, and it involves restricted matters.”

I sat up. “Right. House and Senate Preternatural Liaison Oversight Committees? There are things humans have neither rights nor need to know, but also things that should get proper scrutiny.”

That took us into what might work and was necessary or desirable from one or other perspective. We were beginning to wonder about food when an excited Skuffles interrupted to tell us things were happening. A Coast Guard cutter looking at Astoria’s new waterfront, and noting a substantial increase in the force of the current that would affect navigation in the Columbia Bar, had witnessed Medicine Wolf’s return, on a grand scale. Still recognisably the same animal, the dire wolf that rose from the main channel was _enormous_ — several hundred feet tall and glowing with energy as it saw the cutter and a gaping reporter onboard repeated its words.

_My apologies for startling you. I had to be unusually concentrated to control the plates’ readjustment, and have absorbed a lot of their energy. Is all as well as may be on the land?_

Assured it was, Medicine Wolf said stronger current was unavoidable until it had done some eroding, but would scour a straighter main channel, before adding it had things to do with its abundance of energy, wishing the Coast Guard well, and loping off up the Columbia. Seven-league boots might have been faster, but not by much, and cameras in Skamokawa, Cathlamet, Westport, and Clatskanie barely had time to swivel as it passed. But at Longview it left the river, heading for Mount St Helens as scrambled choppers started providing coverage, and my heart fluttered.

“Uh oh.”

The Man gave me a look. “Problem, Ms Hauptman?”

“Who knows, sir? A way oversize great manitou on an earthquake-wrangling high is new to me too.” Honesty tugged as I watched Medicine Wolf Magna climb the south slope in a bare minute to stand on the rim, towering into the sky. “But Coyote did have an idea about Lawetlat’la, Mount St Helens, and he might have sold Medicine Wolf on it.”

“What sort of idea?”

“Um …”

“The Mount Rushmore sort, sir.” Jesse grinned. “But it was your idea to have some Elder Spirits on a proper scale, Mom.”

_This I have to see._

Skuffles vanished, reappearing seconds later beside Medicine Wolf Magna, who looked down and said hi, with who knew what else. Skuffles seemed pleased and the chopper gave a circling panorama of the two, ridiculously mismatched but undeniably fine as they contemplated the rock before them.

“How does Skuffles _do_ that?”

The Man sounded quite plaintive.

“She goes via Underhill, sir. I was wearing the cloak when I made her, and it came with the deal.”

No-one else said anything because Medicine Wolf Magna was moving towards the thicker, more jagged eastern part of the horseshoe rim, Skuffles trotting behind, and stopped again on Dog’s Head Peak, just short of the dip in the middle. Rock began to move instead — not falling, but compacting, shrinking, smoothing itself to shape, and darkening as it became denser. It was, I supposed numbly, not so different a process from tunnelling, but on a far larger scale. What snow cover there was melted fast, and I felt some relief as a rounded back emerged, then flanks and from the further rise the great head, turned north-east towards Cowlitz. As the rear was completed I was also relieved to see it was lying down, tail neatly tucked — that much rock supported on narrow legs would have been very uncomfortable to look at, whatever the physics of direwolfite — but by the head another began to emerge, then a third, and I sighed. Sculpting me was catching on. If the main statue was of the normal fifteen-foot version of Medicine Wolf I’d be to scale, wearing the cloak and Excalibur, one hand on Manannán’s Bane — and watching rock compact itself _that_ much made me wince — but I was still most of a hundred feet tall, and on my other side eighty feet of Skuffles was sitting up, head and fully detailed ruff level with my shoulder as we all gazed to the far horizon. The real Skuffles was skittering excitement, and Medicine Wolf Magna had shrunk as it used energy, though still way too big. Eventually the thing was complete, and the artists in crime trotted down to sit in front of themselves with satisfied approval. I knew Adam was stifling laughter, Jesse wearing the widest grin, and everyone else was very quiet indeed, even TV commentators having no idea what to say.

“Well, it takes care of the present problem, I suppose.” The Man sounded reflective. “And makes medals look very small beer.”

“Dear God.” Senator Less Stupid drew a juddering breath. “Did you know this was coming, Ms Hauptman?”

I shook my head, but Jesse laughed joyously.

“Mom actually really dislikes heroic statues of her, sir, and she’d have headed this one off at the pass if she’d had the chance. Skuffles has more vanity — comes with the ruff-do, I think.”

The Man narrowed his eyes. “How does she know she dislikes heroic statues of herself? What did I miss?”

Jesse dimpled. “You’ll have to ask her, sir — spilling those beans is more than my life’s worth — but for my money Medicine Wolf just cast the vote it doesn’t have.”


	62. Chapter 62

**Chapter Sixty-Two**

I worried what First People would think of unilateral alterations to Lawetlat’la, and Coyote thought that was almost as funny as the statues.

“Overscrupulous daughter, it’s sacred because spirits dance there, it usually has snow cover, and it’s a stratovolcano that periodically goes bang. Having a great manitou use it for art is even better, and the spirits are delighted. But I suppose you’re all embarrassed and cross about having another larger-than-life statue. At least you have clothes on this time.”

“Not really. The Statue of Surprising Mercy turns out to have been useful training. I just don’t want anyone thinking I signed off on it.”

“Great manitous do what they want. It’s appropriate, if you win doubly so, and if you somehow manage to lose still a splendid tourist attraction.” He grinned unrepentantly. “Even I’ve never been one of those. It needs a proper name, though.”

 _It has one._ Skuffles was still excitedly smug, and when at a loose end had taken to posing at her own feet for happy tourists, already arriving in numbers. _Medicine Wolf can be rather literal, and was going to call it_ I Walk the Path of Mercy _, but I persuaded it to think again, so it is called_ She Moves Mountains (And So Do I).

Coyote did more laughing, and when Skuffles made the name public so did most people. The Yakama Council extended Lawetlat’la’s sacred status to ban climbing statues, and thanks to Mount Adams there weren’t many places from which the statues could be seen clearly except the access road through Toutle, so I wasn’t looming over anyone who didn’t want me to, while the idea of Medicine Wolf expending excess energy in art on a grand scale was one lots of people decided they found reassuring. Still distinctly larger but no longer glowing so much, it had given a long interview to Caroline, saying oversize statuary was an extravagance but things had gone well, commemoration had been in order, and something had had to be done with all the energy, which was about moving rock anyway. Besides, new things to do were welcome in one’s nine millions. Pushed by a smiling Caroline, it approved of Jesse’s widely shared analysis, strong confidence in federal sincerity being important in these early stages of the Path of Mercy, as the Fae agreed.

_So yes, you could say I indicated my preference, but I would have done it were she not running. It had not occurred to me to interfere with plates until she asked. Mercy is one of the most interesting beings I know, and as she thinks you lucked out with me, I think I lucked out with her._

“Very good to hear, sir. And Skuffles?”

_Skuffles is interesting too, Ms Taylor, as new kinds are, and has been more helpful than you know. She is something of a scamp, I grant, but that seems to be magical coyotes for you. Besides, she is yet very young._

Skuffles looked smug all over again, and even the steady grind of campaigning couldn’t dent her exuberant cheer, for which I was grateful. She ran interference with interviewers who wanted to know how I felt about giant clothed direwolfite me, explaining cheerfully that she adored it, and being all magical coyote had no modesty, while I had a double share. More privately she had an idea that intrigued Adam, and with Jill’s pleased help, surreptitious calls, and a visit by cloak we commissioned for Jesse’s graduation present a dress with Marcus Amerman beadwork of _She Moves Mountains (And So Do I)_. He was a charming man, happy to be asked, and moved to discover Jill’s admiration (and collection of historic beadwork), so though he did cost an arm and a leg I knew whom I’d ask to do an official portrait, if.

Once evacuees were home I resumed campaigning differently on the damaged West Coast. San Francisco hadn’t been badly hit, saving elevated freeway, and Irpa called in a bunch of trolls who made themselves useful shifting slabs of concrete to complete demolition and removal in record time and allow construction crews from all over to start rebuilding 24/7. Vanna’s presence fed the trolls-in-port-cities connection with New York, and, with a sharp eye on PR Irpa talked fae into being ostentatiously helpful wherever I happened to be visiting. Pixies and brownies turned up where trees had come down, earth slid, and water level altered, restoring verdure to raw slopes and order to gardens, and a surprising number of selkies and merfolk made themselves popular helping along the coast. Things that survived abrupt immersion uncrushed were recovered, and debris cleared from shallower water, while a fleet of USN, Coast Guard, and hired vessels generated a new sonar map, discovering underwater slides. Ap Lugh and other Gray Lords allowed themselves to be seen approving of co-operation, and occasionally lending magical strength to a swifter solution of some problem. They were always fae-exact about not expressing political opinions, while politely agreeing it was advantageous to Fae–US relations to have those who understood the preternatural in positions of responsibility. Asked about Medicine Wolf’s statuary The Dagda blandly said he approved of large things on principle, and ap Lugh more cryptically that he appreciated both the urge and the results.

The Fae also finally opened their embassy in DC, as the research facility I’d suggested. Baba Yaga invited us to the opening, and even from outside the transformations it would effect were obvious. A Downtown corner building had been glamoured early mediaeval, like the barbican at Walla Walla, and the design on the huge wooden doors was suspiciously reminiscent of the West Gate of Moria, with a stylised tree and stars. There were more trees from Underhill in the garden, including stonethorns, which looked like rowans with multi-coloured blossom, and sight of the Man, assorted ambassadors, and a swathe of the Beltway enjoying superior finger-food and wine while mingling with Gray Lords and trying to disguise deep unease at all the swirling magic was entertaining. So was a quite informative display for visitors that included a glamoured copy of the Fountain of Uphill Justice with no explanation attached, and a mundane library open to accredited scholars that held poetic texts in any number of dead languages, scholarship the Fae approved, and, in so far as they were willing to reveal it, their history as they saw it, with particular attention to US residence. They’d checked with the Man, and the end-point was the fullest account yet of the Medicine Wolf Accords and a statement of hopes in walking the Paths of Assertion and Mercy. Preternaturals who no longer had to conceal age and historical witness were invited to contribute to holdings, and Frank given a Fae Embassy Library Award they’d invented for his work chairing round tables. It was all very hopeful, but I had to deal with the Oaf’s ambassador, and was annoyed by the concerns he expressed.

“The desecrators are being prosecuted, sir, because they desecrated. Nationalities are irrelevant. Any offender would be prosecuted, and as you don’t do sentences with hard labour, an expiation First People require, they’ll serve time here. Don’t look for any remission, sir, and tell your boss if he really thinks I’d bend sacred law to persecute _other_ British citizens because _he_ was rude, he’s even more offensive than he’s already shown himself. Feel free to quote me.”

He wasn’t happy, but the Man had shown me CIA analyses of the loud British tabloid protests about their unfairly persecuted lads, and public opinion there, which did not closely match, and next day made clear he would not intervene when the offence was blasphemous and everyone on planet had seen the warning signs. If the judge forbade repatriation that could be appealed and would be a matter for the courts. He ended by quoting me, sacred meaning sacred, period, and when asked I thanked him for doing the right thing and got back to campaigning.

Being way ahead in polls meant I didn’t need to do big-stadium speeches and instead visited slate candidates, drawing crowds and using rolling coverage to put national pressure on local problems. Thanks to the cloak I could make multiple visits each day, and bounced round the crazy quilt of the Lower 48, fitting in Alaska and Hawaii, with the great benefit of disallowing a travelling media pack and bringing out different journalists everywhere. I talked to employees and business-owners large and small, women’s groups and men’s groups, libraries, unions, and colleges, nature and art clubs, PDs and FDs, hospitals and health centres, military units and Big and Little League teams, interspersing pool interviews, and while plenty of problems were intransigent for real reasons a surprising number turned out to be eminently fixable when the world’s cameras focused on them. Bureaucrats found themselves obliged to accelerate decisions, counties and townships discovered they did after all have available budget, aggressive developers backed off, a few smaller PDs did some foot shuffling and agreed to revise officers’ training, and a larger one under FBI scrutiny decided on reflection that proactive self-improvement was wiser than stonewalling. It was pleasing, though the pure selfishness, foolishness, or ignorance causing problems wasn’t, and it fed the positive, as well as the increasingly exhausted and dazed media.

Senator Less Stupid bravely offered a second debate, with — he sounded wry — stringently predetermined rules. I agreed, and allowed him home advantage, an eastern venue with news anchors from ABC, CBS, and NBC moderating. Skuffles agreed not to speak unless spoken to or about, and we got to it in early October. As his people had no real strategy on core policy issues, and I wasn’t interested in being anything but clear, even when sideways, stilted one-minute questions and answers developed into argument, as much about priorities as policies, and he pushed as hard as he could at my biggest weakness, foreign policy. I could dance around conversations I’d had with foreign leaders, cite Asil’s work and the thanks Italy made public, and invoke Canadians and Mexicans, but there were issues he knew more about, and I thought he made fair sense and scored some points. But he was in a basic tangle about the need to go green, committed to minimising change and disruption when most had realised half-measures wouldn’t do, and except for demand to bring troops home from various messes we were involved in the election really wasn’t about foreign policy. The media scored it as a points victory for me, thought I’d been courteous in refraining from pointing out the obvious, and lauded civility on both sides, but it was an irrelevance to the polls.

What wasn’t was Jesse, who had approval ratings close to my own. Her audience for intranets was sky-high, real-time and evening broadcast, and emailing kiddos had slammed the Colorado riparicide way up the political agenda, some farms having already been bought by Arizona and California and closed, returning water to dry bed. Jesse was also explaining her reality, week by week, around whatever the topic was. Very few non-magical humans had as broad an experience of the preternatural, never mind its multiple higher echelons, and she had done a great deal to put vamps and their terrors in perspective, ranking them well below Gray Lords, angry trolls, certain other fae, and out-of-control wolves, and interviewing Stefan with some sheep in material shared with _Living Free and Bloodbound_. Irpa had been on too, about West coast repair-work, and by satellite Asil, to report on European wolf affairs before talking about the curse of longevity and his experiences of the US. Adam and I were still concerned Christy might show, but she moved from seeking oblivion in Reno to seeking it in Las Vegas, still pretending Jesse didn’t exist.

Others weren’t, and Adam and I were very proud when the American Library Association announced it was giving Jesse a special award for outstanding contribution to national educational experience and practice. It made her thoughtful for a few days before she told us over dinner what she wanted to do. Yes, she’d had a chance she’d seized, but why wasn’t tech capability applied more widely by schools? A permanent schools’ intranet, as between school libraries that had strong ALA links, would be a valuable tool for Others 101, so why wasn’t everyone hammering on PBS’s door, and asking me and Frank for promises of federal backing? She and Stallings expected the intranets to continue until she graduated, she was serious about Georgetown U., a Foreign Relations major, and Others 201, and saw no reason not to pull things together sooner than later. Neither could we, though there were complications, and after consulting Jenny and Andrea I started making calls.

The result was a teleconferenced meeting, with White House counsel as well as Jenny, Andrea, and other lawyers present, between us, Charles and Anna, Frank, Georgetown U., PBS, the ALA, Stallings, Wiseman, Clay with Chief Rodgers, and Feds working on scent admissibility, including Westfield. Jesse had with Frank’s and Stallings’s help written a long proposal all had seen, combining active Georgetown U. sponsorship and teaching use of intranets with urgent development of Others 201 for their Foreign Relations major, and using the Duckpond Fund to draw disadvantaged juniors and seniors from intranets into the programme. A short section declared her own interest in enrolling, deferring to the application process but noting she would, if admitted, in effect be arriving with her own cohort, and it was not foolish to think graduates would be in high demand, meaning maximal financial and social trickledown. There wasn’t a paper problem, as even excluding her maxed Civics scores Jesse’s GPA was very decent, and Georgetown were clear her acceptance was well within established parameters, however strongly self-interested, and they were flattered to be chosen. Jesse and Andrea had been brainstorming with Irpa and all sorts, and had ideas about Others 201 that sat Georgetown up, antennae quivering, while I’d had enough conversations to say various foreign leaders might be glad to address the programme, if recruitment was open to their nationals, and senior preternaturals would be willing to lecture but not mark. Certification and documentation of scent evidence was an obvious project, plugging into pragmatic law and politics while giving the FBI-led multi-agency team working on them a strong impetus, so after thrashing details everyone was sufficiently happy Jesse wound up with permission to start rolling it out.

When she did, making plain it would happen regardless of November, and listing Duckpond Scholarships and Bursaries that could be applied for, social media went crazy, and gave me pleasing if overdue revenge when _#JesseForPresident(AsSoonAsShe’s35)_ went viral. Jesse suspected me, but I was innocent and cheerfully told her aiming to be the first mother and daughter to hold the office was a worthy ambition, and her chosen major would make her a very interesting candidate … but no pressure. Adam looked horrified, but I made it up to him later.

I can’t say the furore died down but with the new school year underway Jesse had plenty to occupy her time, besides setting-up a staff to process Duckpond applications. She was happy her constant guard was, on school premises, down to Dan and the Joes, though the Secret Service kept an eye on travel. Ap Lugh and Underhill granted me let to take Dan and the Joes through the Garden, and Jesse came with me Saturdays, wherever I was going, drawing kiddos of all colours, with a wide demographic of older first-time voters. Interviews and everything I heard said she was the biggest factor still driving registration, through her own charisma and kiddos nagging parents into action. Jesse’s strategic advice had been to combine a kiddo’s ability earnestly to ask _why?_ in endless succession with polite refusal to accept excuses, and that was working, as were the ways of dealing with self- or other-harming adults in authority. Social service and charitable interventions were up, and Adam and I as moved as Jesse by letters she received thanking her for changing and saving lives.

Sundays I rested, as Christians should, and Reverend Jackson had thankfully backed off from extempore sermons, though the reporters’ trespass prompted a return to enclosure and wider sacralisation. The Cascadia ’quakes and _She Moves Mountains (And So Do I)_ occasioned a relapse, with threshing sledges, mountains, and statues rather than chaff that mixed more metaphors than I could count, but she hit the nail on the head all the same by concluding that what Medicine Wolf had really said was to be not only thankful but vigilant, looking ahead from the greatest possible height. She’d also done as asked about magic and miracles, and been sensible about what was clear, what wasn’t, and what couldn’t be. Conceding Christ might well have worked many miracles using magic, she suggested Lazarus pointed to more. True, he might have been comatose, but she didn’t think so, and none of ghosts, zombies, vampires, rejoining magic, and rapid healing amounted to the divine power of restoring life, let alone what souls were graced with through the Resurrection, so whatever magic did in the world, or technology, the real miracle we looked to was post-mortem. At my request she posted the text on the church website, I quoted and linked it in a long email to registered supporters, and it took off, prompting spirited religious debate that broadly agreed and was relieved to have new clarity.

It was a happy development I carried into the final week, offsetting a persistent gloom. I’d thought I’d accepted probably winning, but faced with its imminent reality the lunacy seemed more apparent than ever. Adam felt it too when we had another teleconference with White House counsel present about changes that had to be made to the way we handled business interests and _Clean up the Basin!_ I surprised everyone except Adam by saying I had no intention of closing the garage, even if I could only do a day a year, Zee had agreed to look after my few but longstanding customers, and it could become a base for the motor pool of a western White House. Adam’s far more valuable security business was trickier, and though it helped he already had federal security clearances up the wazoo, as First Gentleman the reasons he had them would have to be wrapped in a great deal of insulation from improper presidential influence. So would _Clean Up the Basin!_ funds, but protocols Jenny had in place were nearly adequate.

Having already visited all fifty states, and Puerto Rico to highlight its disenfranchisement, I tried in the last days to keep up the necessary fizz with trips to smaller reservations I’d missed, allowing more posters to be revealed, gave a final interview — steadfastly refusing to assume or give any further opinion on heroic statuary — and over the last weekend made visits with Adam, Jesse, and Frank and Rachel, to Golden Gate Park and Lexington. Both Irpa and Jeremiah were leading in polls, Irpa with a greater margin thanks to high visibility after the ’quakes, and with the symmetry of beginning and ending the campaign those paired visits served to start a national get-out-the-vote drumroll.

We again went for music in Bison Paddock, and the weather blessed us. All the musicians had been writing non-stop for months — manitou songs, vamp dirges, Excalibur rock, Amerindian Blues, Path of Mercy anthems, Cascadia ballads ranging from traffic laments to moving mountains, lunatic jams delighting in the preternatural, and just awesome times songs — and seemed intent on playing them all as up-tempo as each would take. Irpa had preternaturals out in force, but other communities were as well — pink, green, ethnic, you name it — all still very charged by the success of the evacuation. No-one’s volume sliders were of much use, but Skuffles commanded attention to lay out practical details of networks Irpa had in place to ensure anyone who wanted to vote could, even if housebound or ill, and reach out to first-time voters, old and young. Then we got back to the music, still urging people on, not celebrating assumed victory, and I eventually got the laughing musicians to play some swing so Adam and I could dance. He brought wolf speed and strength to the Lindy Hop, so we set off a lot of rather less snappy imitation and sent viewing figures for instruction vids on YouTube through the roof.

That high energy again set up a lower-key exhortation in Lexington. We had to change venue to the largest stadium they had, and the cheering section was way louder than it had been, but I pulled out one last serious speech, confronting and exorcizing some of my own visceral reluctance in staring at impossible probability, with why that was actually a good thing. However I needed no divine explanation for great manitous, I was very clear both were telling us the planet had had enough of our careless, needless, often incidental pollution, that we were already so far gone technology couldn’t cut it without a paradigm shift, and magic was the only one available. It was emergency action, calling on and costing everyone, human and preternatural, but it was that or bust, we were all in it together, and the trick was to make golden opportunity of urgent necessity by using the shake-up to tackle our other worst problems, the needless interrogatives that spilled into hate and sectarian or blindly partisan division, building bridges with Irpa, drawing on long experience with Jeremiah, never forgetting education with Frank, and thinking sideways with me. Or if you wanted it simple, when you’re in an impossible fix the rules need changing, so it’s coyote time.

Half the papers nabbed that as their election-day headline, which I thought lazy, but it amused Coyote, who came with Adam and me when we and bodyguards went to vote. The Secret Service guys had voted postally, but Jill had shifted registration when she became resident, as had Brent, Dan, and the Joes. There was a long line I happily joined, smiling at a silly number of cameras, and my grinning PR guru Da kept them amused with complaints about not having even one vote himself, despite having three forms, and wouldn’t one for each be reasonable despite their collective lack of birth certificates? A poor Elder Spirit couldn’t get round the gross injustice of being disenfranchised by reshaping bits of an active volcano, so really, what was to be done? Jill gave him a very bearish look, remarking her relief that terraforming was not his province, or Great Ghu alone knew what anywhere would look like, but it was grist to his mill and there was more laughter than most polling stations had heard in a while.

Jesse had to stay outside, so Adam and I went in shifts with guards rotating, and she took over entertaining the media with Coyote playing straight man and being proud of his Graught. The deed itself was swiftly done, with an abruptly hollow stomach, but the ballot paper was as usual enormous, and I zapped through other races in which I had a vote, for assorted First People, Washington, and Warren. Outside I gave a brisk interview while others had their turn, cheerfully admitting nerves — D’oh! try it for yourself — and explaining I’d left Excalibur at home because magical swords didn’t quite get polling stations, which was as it should be. Then we detoured to a billboard and revealed Coyote’s last design, less advertisement than admonition, showing _She Moves Mountains (And So Do I)_ in dawnlight that lent my cloak some colouring though I had snow on my shoulders and head, with the legend **EVEN MEDICINE WOLF CAN ONLY WORK WITH WHAT’S THERE** , and below it **Your jobs do not end today**. It puzzled media more than it should, but Jesse set them straight, reminding everyone this was, she hoped, the beginning of action, an empowerment to answer, not an answer in itself.

“Mom does plenty of awesome, but the biggest is that she gets other people to do things right. And other people is all of us, no matter who gets to vote or doesn’t. Time to start if you haven’t, or continue if you have.”

Since their Sacred Space debacle Fox had been wary of engaging me, but one of their loonier talking heads was among today’s pack, and either hadn’t taken Jesse’s measure or was feeling lucky.

“Doing things _right_ depends, Miss Hauptman. And whatever we’re collectively pretending in this madness, a lot of Americans’ jobs are going to end today if your stepmother is indeed elected.”

There was probably going to be more but Jesse sliced into a pause.

“Not so, ma’am. Their jobs will change, because their minds already have. You should try it.”

Coyote, Skuffles, and I were not the only ones to hoot laughter, and if leaving media behind was impossible, giving them a good soundbite let us get to lunch with the Freed and my volunteers, at Benny’s in Richland. It sat wrong, but to keep the rest of the media out — and by early afternoon the mob had swollen so much the Secret Service called in the SEAL unit to reinforce Richland PD — I had to accept Caroline and Penny broadcasting a speech about volunteers having coped magnificently with a candidate doing things differently and a toast of thanks. They were all on exhausted highs, rightly proud of themselves, and though Adam and I had half-hoped to get away before media began calling states from exit polls at 3 p.m. Pacific, Benny had the TVs on, the atmosphere was warm and electric, smelling magnificent, and it didn’t happen. By then more than half the Columbia Basin Pack had drifted in, many businesses closing early to let people vote, and we decided with a shrug that doing election night in a pizza joint was different enough, warned Caroline and Penny, and settled in to watch the media explode with numbers.

Within a few minutes it was clear turnout was pushing eighty percent, everyone thought I’d taken Indiana and Kentucky by frightening margins, and Jeremiah had trounced his opponent — a direct blow at the main parties confirmed by a shocked concession after the rash of further calls at 4, which thought I had Florida, Georgia, New Hampshire, South Carolina, Vermont, and Virginia by similarly absurd margins. Bursts of excited talk alternated with reflective moments, and I fortified myself with another pepperoni-laden pie Benny offered on the house.

“Buy a million, get one free, Mercy.”

“Thanks, Benny. It’s quite the slogan. You should talk to Uncle Mike—I’m told he goes in for Unhappy Hours at double price.”

“There’s a thought. But nah — like everyone, I prefer coyote jokes.”

And they did. At 4.30 North Carolina, Ohio, and West Virginia were added to my nominal tally, and the mass of calls at 5 swept a green tide across the Mississippi Basin from Alabama to North Dakota. I was staring when Jenna and Sally dragged their parents in, all looking sheepish.

“Mercy, Mom and Dad didn’t want to come because they feel like they’re horning in. Same for Sally. Like you, the Feebs, or KPD are gonna care, right?”

I understood perfectly, and like Jesse appreciated the ex-kiddo _force majeure_ that had got them this far, but also knew how Leslie and Clay would be thinking, and raised an eyebrow.

“Off-duty?”

Clay was, but Leslie waggled a hand.

“On call if preternatural celebrations get … over-exuberant.”

“Well, that’s most likely to happen right here, Leslie, so I’d sit down and have pizza and beer. The ex-kiddos have the right of it.”

Tables were pushed together and chatter swelled. Other friends arrived, Warren and Kyle, Tony as his shift ended, Zee and Tad, bringing Uncle Mike and our earth fae, solemnly excited, Samuel, Ariana, and Frank with Rachel, plus a talkative posse of Yakama elders led by Jim Alvin, Calvin waiting on them. Somewhere in there actual declarations started from counties and states with smaller populations and fully machine-countable voting, tallies every bit as asymmetric as pollsters had said. Given the amount of pizza I’d eaten it was not possible for me to be hollow, but my stomach had moments of serious confusion, and I held Adam’s and Jesse’s hands.

As larger races declared the pattern was strongly slate, though the variety of candidates and posts made for plenty of genuine contests, especially where incumbents were popular and electorates smaller. But at state and federal level both main parties were being pruned hard, losing offices they’d long taken for granted. Governorships, mayoralties, federal and state senatorships, and more urban districts were going to slate-independents. Rural was patchier, but there was plenty of green everywhere, every demographic analysis confirming absolute popular majorities at all levels. When Mountain Time states kicked in at 6, with late-closing New York, my called electoral college votes passed 270, but I made Adam hold off on crates of champagne he’d produced.

When West Coast tallies were added, though, I received a private call of concession from Senator Less Stupid, relieved it was over and rueful about the severity of the rebuke to both parties, but clear the thing was now to make new policies and priorities work for everyone. He’d be in touch about my kind offer when he’d recovered, far away from the public eye, and once I’d told him I wouldn’t be saying anything until declared results added up to 270 electoral votes, he offered congratulations, we did mutual thanks, and willingly called it a day.

When I went back to the main space Alaska and Hawaii had been added, talking heads were trying to get their own around a clean sweep, and after making some calls Adam served champagne over my muted protests, and commanded attention with a crackle of Alpha dominance shot through with complicated joy.

“Ladies and gentlemen, all media-called but undeclared states confirm substantial popular majorities in every sample, however they’re still counting, so whatever the exact figures Mercy and Frank have done it.” I loved him even more for remembering Frank in that moment. “She only becomes eligible Thursday fortnight, but barring an act of God I give you the most popular and very best President-elect any of us have ever seen, or will again. She’s got way too many names to list, but Mercy covers it nicely, whatever my not-exactly father-in-law keeps on saying.”

Coyote was laughing and a lot of champagne going down when Adam set our glasses aside, swept me into his arms, and gave me a kiss people still talk about. There was fear and joy and pride in it, but mostly lustful love, and it settled me as nothing else could have done. President-elect Me was still me, we were still us, and as soon as he let me breathe again Jesse was swept into a three-way hug that decorated a lot of front pages. The noise-level was silly, but as more data came out and senior responses began, nationally and globally, interest in the commentary sharpened again. My absolute-by-a-way popular majority wouldn’t mean unanimity in the electoral college, given the way different states did things, but for all practical purposes the map was one colour. I couldn’t begin to say _job done_ , but it really was _job properly started_ , and anything else had to wait because the graphics had done something to the Freed and they went into hug mode, holding me with an intensity I recognised but could never predict. Then I had to face Caroline and Al’s camera, balancing exultation at the whole trick with gravitas and holding the line about not pre-empting formal declarations. Adam and Jesse helped, with Warren and Irpa, also waiting on confirmation of predicted landslides, but it was Ramona (with a grinning Skuffles beside her) who put something into words, when Penny asked about the Freed’s reaction.

“Some is the submissives, Penny, stress pulling out need, and bodyguarding’s stressful even when nothing happens. But yeah, there was more. It’s … well, call it unity, I suppose. But it makes me think of the first time I ever saw Mercy.” Ramona drank beer. “Between the caged and their cagers, the tortured and their torturers, there’s absolute division, so in that mine there was _Us_ and there was _Them_. That absorbed the ones who were illegals, with its own us and them, and the racial mix. Then the torturers got freaked and legged it, leaving us in the dark for what felt like ever, until suddenly we weren’t and a bunch of wolves walked in, Alpha power everywhere, and Mercy in the middle, wearing cloak and feather and carrying Manannán’s Bane — not in charge, she said, just taking point that week, but she was calling the shots and _everything_ changed for us. Now we are true pack, knowing our wolves in free health and joy, and we have money, a house, hunting ground, earth fae and guardian trees, occupation, kin in work, and college educations waiting. And a true community or communities, with the Columbia Basin Pack and other wolves, here in Richland with neighbours and the PD and FD, and in ourselves and our wider kin. You’ve seen it on _Living Free and Moonbound_.”

Penny nodded. “That’s true.”

“Un huh. So, we know very well a _lot_ of people worked hard to save us, not just those who broke us out and have generously looked after us, and we are grateful in full measure to all, but we also know it was Mercy. She’ll tell you, honestly as she sees it, her part was all coyote luck and being stubborn, with a side of overdue revenge on Cantrip and Heuter, but Asil’s right it’s actually grace. And she did it again with Bonarata, not in charge, just taking point once more, not St Michael wielding the flaming sword but a Madonna of Coyotes, _gracias a Dios_ — yet the point was to bring vampires in from the cold. Now she has done it a third time, on the largest scale, and threes matter in all sorts of magic.”

Ramona pointed as the solid green map appeared yet again on the big screens with formal and projected tallies of a landslide, as in earthquake.

“Just look at it. From caged isolation to free community, and from free community to that, to know we are a part of us, that the US is us as we collectively are it. Think of our journey, and you will know why we hug Mercy when we must. And thank you, everyone, as I thank me, for being us today, and making the sane, sideways choice.”


	63. Chapter 63

**Chapter Sixty-Three**

Being President-elect is _extremely_ odd, and I don’t like to think how it might have been if the Man and I hadn’t been in cahoots. He’d greeted my formal acceptance with open satisfaction, addressing the enormous proportion of first-term Congressmen, -women, and -trolls with clarity and vigour. The outgoing were marshalled to allow themselves to be shadowed by successors, unable to demur in the face of a presidential request and the sheer size of my majority, and I spent long days doing as much with the Man and being taught many, many protocols.

Where those involved the Secret Service I pulled in Adam and Skuffles, and a long, frank discussion generated a special oversize preternatural squad, mostly serving wolves for day-to-day with avatar and fae cover for full moons and special occasions. Brent and Jill declined full-time positions, disliking DC, but were happy to instruct and agreed to stay in Kennewick, where I’d be as often as I could, especially while Jesse was finishing school. The new western White House was already pretty secure but we had to agree to heavy fencing, with proper animal tunnels. A gatehouse was sensible, and the government purchased a patch of scrubland beyond Earth Fae Creek to build a security centre and small barracks with kitchen facilities, though I’d bet Benny’s would feed guards often enough.

Neighbours were vetted, to Mr Andrews’s grumbling approval, and checkpoints put in on Piert Road, by its junction with East Riek, and Meals Road, a mile south. Passes were issued to residents, with strict instructions about visitors, and people Adam and I specified, from Ramona and the Freed to delivery drivers for Benny’s and Yoke’s. Faced with the impossibility of vetting earth fae there was Secret Service head-scratching that amused Pirandella though not Nuthatch, but he was mollified by the issue of wooden ID cards, though when they were expected to need them was beyond me. Agents were better pleased when crowds in Pasco revealed that from across the river, though nowhere closer, the house was not only unphotographable but invisible, humans seeing a glamoured Executive Mansion surrounded by oversize oaks. Ap Lugh said publicly it was a free fae contribution to presidential security, form determined by purpose, but told me, a glint in his eye, the choice of oaks was in honour of the one who despatched di Ragusa, and that while it had been pondering a name its grove-mates had decided on Quick Thinker. My mild exasperation was qualified by laughter, and the immediate pride the view engendered in all three cities, though Pasco would reap the biggest tourist benefit.

The Secret Service had taken the point about rural roads and presidential limos, so one nice thing I did in DC was inspect plans for armoured SUVs and see work-in-progress, with a laughing Man. On the principle that friends in high places are wonderful but friends in low places essential, I made nice to the staff of the motor-pool, got my hands properly dirty, and issued an unexpected edict.

“Every federal vehicle I’ve ever seen has been black. Is there a rule?”

“Ah, no, Ma’am, I don’t believe so. It just saves argument.”

“So does this. Marsh Sedge green. All of them, please, and the limos, except one for state funerals, and even then I might go for putting a green one into mourning — black ribbons or whatever.”

There was a brief pause.

“Marsh Sedge green, Ma’am?”

“Yeah. Like Jesse’s hair the last few months. I like it, and green’s on message. But as you have respraying capacity, we can go for some … mmm, thematic variation. Pink if I was visiting the Irish Taoiseach, say.” I was feeling mischievous. “And decals — I know a guy who makes really superior ones.” I relented at the looks of horror, and the Man guffawed. “Well, for the coach maybe, but I mean it about variation. And there are these.”

Ariana had made me an exquisite little statue of a leaping coyote, by way of congratulations, and the original stood on my desk, but with her permission and Zee’s help I’d created a mould with a different base, and gave it to the Chief Mechanic with a sample cast.

“Hood ornament, on everything from Inauguration Day, please. The cast is silver, because it was to hand, but they can be anything shiny.”

He peered at the statuette, turning it. “It’s beautiful work, Ma’am.”

“Isn’t it? One of my sisters-in-law is a fae artisan. The hood ornaments are a joke, but not undignified, and I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to that sort of thing.”

After the threat of decals beautiful hood ornaments were not a problem, and I didn’t need that strategy in the spectacular kitchens. A conversation about hospitality spells, and the idea that my invading the kitchens sometimes might be magical policy, let me segue to the one real change of furnishing I wanted, besides upgrading the gym to meet wolf needs, which was to redo the kitchen in the private quarters. The First Lady, not being a cook, hadn’t cared, but as I wasn’t using much allowed budget anywhere else I had a lovely time making sure I could cook for family with pleasure and pack with ease. Accounts with suppliers were adjusted, quantities raising eyebrows until I imported my standing orders with Yoke’s and our last Benny’s bill. Miracle pies were his province, but who in DC made good ones was canvassed, experiments identifying an Italian family place in Georgetown as a runaway winner.

It was oddly possible in DC to get around without too much fuss, even for the Man. His presence wasn’t unusual, any number of VIPs dined out nightly, and media knew intrusion on family drew serious ire while licit photo-ops were plentiful. Collective Hauptman presence strained that, especially with Skuffles in ebullient mood, and the restaurant got heavy publicity, the owners delighted to accept a retainer and stand by for regular presidential visits and occasional very large orders for takeout. With high hopes I put them in touch with Benny, as purveyors of superior pies to eastern and western White Houses, putting them on their joint mettle.

Sixteen days after the election I turned thirty-five, losing my last excuse, a joke only Adam and Jesse appreciated, but I did get a fine party. I had a _lot_ of people to thank, as well as scores of introductions to make, and as we were in a clear dry spell I took two days out from DC, cooked up a storm, and threw a bash. The musicians came, and though I didn’t ask them to sing for their suppers compulsively played acoustic stuff, with an insane performance of ‘Happy Birthday’ in 11/8 Phil Lesh had scored. House and garden were full of Alphas, including Cornicks and Asil, Gray Lords, a distinctly large and bright Medicine Wolf, Elder Spirits, a bunch of avatars and First People, Tri-Cities friends, Stefan and Thomas Hao, the Man and Glen Sawyer, Grant, and for part of the day all the new independent federal representatives and senators.

The party was for introductions, congratulations, and mind-opening, and next day we did proper conferencing in a downtown hotel, ruthlessly thrashing out legislative priorities, with who could reasonably do what. It was easier than I’d feared, because for many reasons, including irony, representatives were willing to accept Irpa’s leadership, and senators Jeremiah’s, and they were all even nervier than I was, with few exceptions sensibly more interested in gaining experience in junior posts than jumping at senior ones. As that became clear I could shift to what a cabinet might look like, and garner relieved approval and assent.

I had no intention of changing directors of agencies, though I gathered Homeland’s might have to go once a certain audit came in, and wanted several cabinet secretaries to stay, starting with Sawyer at Interior, and including the woman who’d held State for the last two years. But I needed a wider ethnic and preternatural mix, and to reach out to the defeated, which was also easier than feared because I took people by surprise and left them feeling grateful. It all ran into December, but before Christmas I published a list and found myself commended for inclusivity.

Figuring they needed to develop a sense of humour, I delighted Coyote by making a bemused US Mint issue the Shortchanger as an Inaugural collector’s item, a golden coin worth several hundred bucks but with a face value of $2.99 and his human and coyote profiles facing away from one another. Genuine amusement and high demand left Wall Street grumbling money was meant to be serious, but soothed them all the same.

Strong welcomes from Russia and China were also helpful. The warmth was because I’d made a quiet trip over Thanksgiving, using the cloak at full stretch to meet them on their border at Lake Khanka. China _had_ called Hao, who found his requests reasonable, and Elder Spirits had spread word over the Bering Strait. Bran knew Siberian, Manchurian, and other wolves round and about, who if wary were interested in high-level governmental contact. Surrounded by wolves Skuffles and I emerged into twilight from an arch to find Russia and China had with mutual amusement set up an insulated tent on the frozen lake, straddling the border so neither had to leave their own territory, and gone into outdoorsy winter mode, braziers round fishing-holes. After some straight conversation and limited but willing oaths, I made calls, and over the next hour wolves, vamps, and the local variety of First People from both countries came warily in to talk.

I had been right tribespeople and preternaturals avoided state contact for hard-learned reasons, Stalin’s and Mao’s commissars not having been so indigenously or magically minded, but they’d been tracking events in the US since Medicine Wolf had woken with growing envy. They weren’t rushing into anything, but for genuine recognition and security were willing to deal, and a delicate conversation with shamans revealed absolute historical knowledge of dragons, which sounded like some kind of spirits, but agreement no-one living was known to have talked to one, though they were still sensed occasionally in some places. Yetis didn’t seem more likely than sasquatches, though no-one present knew the highest mountain territories, but there were manitous great and small, equivalents of earth and garden fae, as well as what might be cousins of _coblynau_ , and quite numerous wolves and vamps, though given higher levels of surveillance nothing like as tightly organised as western packs and seethes. And there were starting-points all could agree, protocols for further contact and direct personal involvements of China and Russia.

When I decided I could leave them to it I got honest thanks from both men. Russia got off on wolf strength and attitude, I thought, and if he’d been thirty years younger would have been a wannabe, an idea his gift of matching competition-shooting pistols did nothing to dispel. China seemed more complicated, liking me as well as appreciating a rival power’s convulsions, and he’d found a stunning seventeenth-century soapstone, coiling dragons in deep relief I had a nasty suspicion had been appropriated from a state collection but wasn’t giving up (though I did register both gifts, under presidential seal). What mattered was that both men were content to look forward to warmer US relations than had been the case lately, and respected my bottom lines, as I did theirs.

While waiting for beings to arrive we’d canvassed various problems and state visits in many directions, and I stirred them up by pointing out any two of us coinciding in a given nation would give all sorts of people pause. What would the Oaf do if he had to entertain China and Russia simultaneously? Or Israel, if all three of us descended? Queen Elizabeth I kept nobles in check with punitive hospitality, descending unrefusably with large retinues for weeks at a time, and I thought she’d had a point. They were also both as weary of North Korea as everyone, so something might be done with some co-ordination. I had, of necessity, a bug-eyed woman from State with me, on a two-time only Underhill let, and though she wasn’t permitted to say anything about the Garden of Manannán’s Death her report put me in so much good and bad odour, depending, that I wound up spending two long days talking to State _en masse_. I confirmed that where First Peoples and preternaturals needed aid I didn’t care what colour, creed, or nominal nationality they were, and you bet the degree of co-operation I got from governments concerning such beings in their territories would affect the US web of allies and those given favoured status. That included Russia, China, India, and other large nations, and being a sensible coyote I saw very well, thanks, that US relationships with rival superpowers would be transformed by new bonds that would change them as well as us. No, preternaturals weren’t taking over, but yes, they were at last able to contribute properly, file under Path of Mercy. Oh, and Russia and China were coming to my inauguration, as was Italy. State herself was more interested than disapproving, if startled I’d been at ease with both men, but after Gray Lords chief execs were not a problem.

I also made Advent visits to Quantico, Langley, West Point, and Annapolis. Wearing my blouson and nametag, with my Presidential Medal of Freedom, was excellent PR, but in sessions with generals and admirals I shifted mode, brought Adam and David in, with Dan and the Joes, which sat everyone up, and had them get honest answers about US deployments they all hated. Announcements had to wait, but tentative decisions hardened, and assessments tipped, making useful conversations possible.

After months seeing I really did reward courtesy and punish rudeness, media were generally well-behaved, and went with the flow to recognise I had agency and military credit, and the worried could relax. Better still, they actually did step back when I told them after the mid-December hunt I’d be off-radar for Christmas, enjoying a last uninterruptable holiday, though they’d see me on Christmas Day, and there would be announcements in due course about the Inauguration.

Uninterruptability was a pipe dream, but I can’t say I minded approving _Time_ ’s choice of Jesse as Person of the Year, though they used a picture of all three of us, and Coyote gave an interview confessing amazement at how sensible Anglos were suddenly being, and asked about a Great Manitou of the Year now the title could alternate. Adam and I were less amused Jesse had to respond, but that cat was long out of the bag and she nailed everyone by saying it was of course an honour but she did wonder about naming me, Ol’ Manitou River, and Irpa as any kind of runners-up. She was tickled pink, though, and wise enough to make sure Sally and Jenna kept her grounded with friendly ragging. Neither was sure they wanted to major in Foreign Relations, but were looking hard at Georgetown and had worries about what the reality would be, so after a pleasingly surreal conversation over dinner one Sunday, with Clay, Donna, Jude, and Leslie, I called surprised people, got answers, and went back with a grin.

“Jenna, Sally, I can’t resist saying you’re clear to bunk at the White House if and when, because being able to do that cracks me up, but it’s actually a good idea.” I sat. “The Secret Service accepts moving to dorms is a thing people going to college do, even First Daughters, but they’d be much happier if Jesse was resident at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and so would Adam. I have mixed feelings. The downside is not fitting in or building peer networks because of security, but one, Jesse’s gonna be doing everything differently anyway, two, she’s already got more peer-networks than anyone can count, and three, when she tells me d’oh, it’s worth using that address while she can, I can’t argue, so that’s what she’ll do. Having either or both of you on board with her would be welcome, and though I can’t promise travel by cloak I will ask Underhill.”

Jesse knew what security protocols would be like, but while it was designed to protect them while they did what they needed academically, not constrict that, what inevitably suffered were spontaneity and hanging out. Even Jude and Clay, who went with Adam on security, had mixed feelings, but stuff the ex-kiddos did together was going to be inside a perimeter anyway. While they were talking it through, Clay shifted to sit opposite me, and spoke about scent forensics. KPD knew, with a resigned if respectful Secret Service, that the presidential nose would still be available when I was in Kennewick, because it was about the best nose around, as Charles could prove. The logistics of a serving president going coyote to track things promised to be complicated, but I waved a hand.

“I’ll deal when I have to, Clay. I dunno what might leave a scent I could track but not a wolf with me, but if it happens, it happens. We’ll have to juggle the roster, though.”

“Un huh.” He shook his head, smiling. “Gotta tell you, Mercy, when it came out you’d still be on call there was about one second’s complete crogglement before everyone said they weren’t surprised. Meant it, too.”

“Citizens come first, Clay, and I’d be pushing scent laws even if Jesse hadn’t smacked her grand-slam out of the park.”

“I know. And she did, didn’t she? But I wanted to say a dad’s thank you. Donna and I have talked with Leslie and Jude about the way Sally and Jenna have grown up so well and so fast since Jesse has been in their lives, with you and Adam, but knowing how to thank you is tough.”

Leslie, Jude, and Donna were listening, and Jude grinned.

“With you on that, Clay. Medicine Wolf solved the general problem but not the personal version.”

“Oh pish, Jude. Just file under friends and mutual benefits. I even got the Gray Lords to think about that one, so you can too.”

“Right.” Leslie gave me a look. “I’ve been hearing a few things about that, Mercy, but I can’t say they’ve made much sense.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh. A half-fae in Tennessee told a Farout Underhill used you to rebuke the Gray Lords, and when I asked Ymir he said that wasn’t quite right but very few people knew what was, and he wasn’t messing with any of your something-I-didn’t-catch, sounded like geese-on.”

“Huh. Probably geasan, the plural of geas, but I’ve only laid one. Still, who knows what _jötnar_ count as …” A thought dropped. “Anyway, it really isn’t human business, Leslie.”

“If it concerns you and threats, it’s federal business, Mercy.”

“Half-point, but there’s no threat. It’s just working through what some of the new actually means, amicably resolved.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You whacked them politely about something and made it stick?”

“You could say, and so far, so good.”

“Alright, but you’re the one who says never be off-guard with any fae, never mind a Gray Lord.”

“Yup, and it’s true, but I have been working on that.” I waggled a hand. “It took a while to work out how to leverage being an Elf-friend.”

Clay and Jude laughed.

“And how do you do that, Mercy?”

“Sideways logic, Clay, and that’s all I’m saying.”

“Your privilege, though it sounds like we’ve even more reasons to be grateful than I knew. Can’t count them anyway _._ Jim Alvin said last year you’d pushed the world and moved it, and now you’ve got us all doing it.”

He raised his beer, others echoing him, and when I’d swallowed emotion I thought collective world-pushing was just about right. There were other seasonal parties where people said something similar, a decorous KPD bash for families and a rather less decorous one the three mayors threw in Sacajawea State Park, though meeting Kyle’s jug-band friends again was nice. It was also luckily timed, for next day a blizzard blew in, closing everything early, which suited us all except Brent, who couldn’t fly back from seeing his parents in SF.

It was still snowing hard on the solstice, when Coyote dragged the three of us with Skuffles and Jill by cloak to the Sacred Space. Residents were sensibly home or in the longhouse, but Elder Spirits were there, and the throb of earth magic very strong as we went down to Celilo Falls, thundering the river’s song against that special hush heavy snow brings. Medicine Wolf was waiting, and serious magic gave me an early present, however it would need practicing. Coyote brought Jesse because the magic opened space for her Graunts, and Adam because they wanted to meet him to offer family blessing. Jesse was teased about her hair, which they thought she should grow and braid, whatever colour it happened to be, and though time with them was never long it always left a sense of blessing.

With spirit magic done Jill went grizzly to have a natter with guardian animals, and we paid a courtesy visit to the longhouse, Coyote deflecting questions by telling everyone they’d find out soon enough. There were visitors who’d come to do solstice things getting more than they’d bargained for, and a sense of vibrant life. A table sported an architect’s model of the village and newly undrowned land, with blocks to try possible constructions and arrangements, and we had a good discussion of whether a longhouse ought to be straight or could, say, snake down a slope, and how salmon catch should be handled. As my First Person ID had become stronger Adam had found he liked tribal gatherings, appreciating native courtesy, and the way that had become soft-spoken respect for me hit all his buttons, so we took real ease away as snow continued to fall, and everyone was happy except snowplough-drivers.

On Christmas Day we decked SUVs in snow-chains and crunched to church through the deepest accumulation in years, while the Freed amused everyone by running a swiftly arranged route to bring older and nearer congregants in on an enormous cargo sled Ramona had persuaded SEALs to liberate from army stores somewhere. It arrived at church in grand style, ten wolves pulling seventeen well-wrapped people, including the beaming Wrights, and as a camera was there despite the snow it was in the news cycle for a while and made a lot of people sentimental. The church was cold enough no-one minded Reverend Jenkins being brisk, while properly thankful, though she did get in a joke about becoming the First Congregation and new responsibilities in the new year. There was mulled wine afterwards, courtesy of Ramona and the Freed, and her speech of thanks for the congregation’s care left everyone warm and fuzzy, so we saw the sled off on its return round, and headed home.

I am _not_ a good shopper, even without security hassle, and have bought enough presents on frantic Christmas Eves, but this year I’d been smart, and while I’d toured reservations fairies — one of the Freed, or Jill — had done some buying on my behalf. It was easy for briefs about each venue to include the kind of shops and artisans I was interested in, and I’d acquired several years’ worth of presents. A bunch was First People’s craftwork — clothing, pottery, leatherwork, ornaments and jewellery, beadwork, baskets, blankets, even a small carpet — but my travels had taken me near all sorts of outlets that had never before been within my means, and in bigger cities when I could ditch media I’d done some buying myself. Jesse would need a professionally budgeted wardrobe, as would Adam, but I could make personal starts, and a really well-cut tux, with better pockets than you’d think possible and an MC-style curving FIRST GENTLEMAN embroidered on the back over a beautiful wolf-head, was a good one. I’d paid a silly amount for an evening dress I knew Jesse would love, and splashed on a Clyde Aspevig oil I’d fallen for, a view of the Grand Tetons from an overlook on the east bank of the Snake, to hang in the Oval Office, with a print of Ansel Adams’s photo of the same view. And my inner cook had a field day with local delicacies, gadgets, cookbooks, and seeds and starts of rarer herbs and spices earth fae were tending.

I love giving gifts, and Adam and Jesse did a lot of pleased laughing, but her present to us brought us up short. She assured us she’d had Underhill’s and Gwyn ap Lugh’s let to take it — Adam and I fast asleep on a bench in the Garden of Manannán’s Death, zonked out after St Louis while wolves inspected the Duckpond. Excalibur, Carnwennan, and a Glock 22 were visible on my belt, my head rested on his shoulder, his head on mine, hands intertwined, faces, even in deep sleep, shining exhausted relief. The print was small, the frame hand-carved wood, and Jesse spoke while Adam and I were staring at it in consternation.

“It’s to remind you not to overdo quite so much. And to remind me not to expect you to overdo. I really hadn’t thought the costs through.”

“No-one can, Jesse, and we’re not repining. Much. I’m just feeling guilty we both zoned out while you were Underhill.”

Jesse snorted. “Of course you are, Mom. Stop it. I was fine, and there were any number of wolves and the complete collection of bodyguards. JJ and Connor begged a copy for David, and I thought that was OK.”

Adam and I thought so too, however we were both a little stricken, not only by guilt. Jesse had been using adult-to-adult with us for a while, but this was admirably wise advice mixed with wider smarts, and we’d both been hit by our own version of Leslie’s and Clay’s thinking about ex-kiddos becoming really sharp adults. Hugs were necessary, and for me cooking. The earth fae, happy with the water snow would become, were due, and cold encouraged pigging-out, so I made sure we could do that.

The deep cold continued, wolves everywhere making themselves visibly useful checking on the elderly and shovelling snow. My down time was interrupted again when Mount Redoubt erupted, dumping ash all over Anchorage, and producing a steady lava flow. With Anchorage airport closed I received a call from California asking if I could deliver a heart and lungs for transplant, the patient being the best match by far and at death’s door. I couldn’t refuse, and though I hadn’t asked for one found a press conference had been set up. Alaska came with Alaska-elect to thank me, which I had to respect, with the gratitude of the patient’s family, and as there were others with respiratory problems from ash Skuffles and I wound up visiting. When I was in hospital the very last thing I’d wanted was a politician turning up for a photo-op, and insisted the hospital check we’d be welcome, but we were, and as they were interesting people it was enjoyable despite continuing ashy gloom.

New York invited Vanna to launch the Times Square ball-drop, so we had VIP invitations, but nipped home in time to do it all again three hours later, more privately. The new year would bring major changes, not only on January 20th. Jesse would turn 18 in March, graduate in May, so school prom, and start at Georgetown. Adam would still be in business, but restructuring and extra deputies would let him step back from federal work and make room for whatever on his schedule. He, Darryl, Warren, and Bran had done some talking, and though Bran wasn’t ready for any non-urgent changes agreed to recognise Darryl and Warren as Legates of the Columbia Basin Pack. They both got the magic that let Bran aid Alphas, and Alphas aid their packs, which meant a lot of cannibalism and chest burn but left everyone happier. Adam and I remained co-Alphas, but formally delegating executive dominance opened the way to Alphas Emeritus, and the innovation was greeted by other packs with interest.

Despite the weather tempo began to pick up as days ticked down, but to my infinite relief the PR I was expected to do dropped right off as handover preparations began in earnest. The federal government has a _lot_ of very high-level secrets, many of which made my head hurt, and half of which you wouldn’t believe if I told you. Adam and Jesse were rocks, and we began with Skuffles to build protocols around what we could and couldn’t say when gratefully back in Kennewick. It wasn’t comfortable, but Adam understood it militarily, Jesse pragmatically, while my lifetime of concealing myself from other preternaturals and humans meant I could live with interlocking circles of secrecy. I didn’t enjoy it, but like manitou-glass it insulated me from emotional separation. Our matebond was unchanged so we were good.

Another blizzard hit DC on the 16th, and it was still gently snowing as inauguration guests gathered, settling on a white city, but no-one cared. The music was excellent, and among a very multicultural throng First People were holding spaces to dance all along the National Mall, around braziers, and anyone not wearing feathers had sensible hats. Wolfpacks were, by Bran’s word, on four legs, with families on two, so there was a display of wolf power, unity, and numbers that made a fascinating sight, and fae were also out in force, Þorgerðr and Vorðr full-size and ignoring the temperature in Yves St Laurent. My dress was Blackfeet, a beautiful gift from their Chiefs — deep red ankle-length wool, gathered at the waist to take a wide leather belt, and colourful stripes with beaded fringes that went up both arms to meet over my cleavage, imitating a modest neckline while the wool rose to a high collar. Fastenings down the back were disguised by more stripes, though the cloak would conceal them.

Nor were wolves the only animals gathered. I’d vetoed Coyote’s notion of massed wild animals, but he brought in about thirty coyotes, trotting over Arlington Memorial Bridge to take a position close to the main platform people were oddly willing to cede. They seemed to be behaving, and it was keeping him out of other trouble, so by and large I thought it a good deal and kept fingers crossed. Just as entertainingly there were avatars on two legs and four, disciplined grizzlies, cougars, moose, and elk making the PD’s job easier, if giving them heebie-jeebies — not helped by ravens massing in trees, or the deep silence that fell when Raven led four bald eagles out of the snowclouds to circle at low altitude and settle along a branch by the main platform. Adam, Jesse, Skuffles, and I were watching a monitor in the waiting-area, and I swallowed emotion.

“Anyone warn you about that one?”

“Nope. But you can’t argue with the symbolism.”

“Or the timing. Here we go.”

Gordon, Wolf, and Bear were representing Elder Spirits, and I noticed mounting the steps, Adam, Jesse, and Skuffles beside me, that magic was keeping snow off Gray Lords, trolls, Zee, Uncle Mike, and earth fae, without apparently making it worse elsewhere. Charles and Anna, with Asil, Jeremiah, the Columbia Basin and Freed Packs, plus assorted Alphas, rounded out wolves, and Stefan and Thomas completed the preternatural delegations. Stands were overflowing with friends, governors, Congress, ambassadors, China, Russia, Italy, the Beltway, and tribal chiefs in fullest fig, while Medicine Wolf and Ol’ Manitou River, in Kennewick and St Louis respectively, watched from the largest screen DC could muster.

Everything was set when The Dagda produced and politely handed Stefan a large jet-black beach umbrella, saying Underhill was about to arrive, and I stared as he took it with thanks and spread it over himself and Thomas. Overhead, an iris opened, banishing clouds to cover the National Mall in sunlight, making birds bate and caw among shouts followed by even deeper silence, and beside Gwyn ap Lugh an archway opened, revealing a smiling Underhill as if behind a gauze veil.

I didn’t like to think about the power being expended, and a glance at Stefan and Thomas deep under their umbrella also suggested maximal despatch, but opportunity beckoned. The Chief Justice held the bible up, Frank swore his Veep’s oath, and I stepped up to swear my own, then looked at Underhill and added the text I wanted constitutionally mandated, reaffirming my predecessor’s oath to uphold the Medicine Wolf Accords. The Gray Lords gave bows, which I returned, before repeating the whole thing in Salish, Siksiká, and Spanish.

“One to go, gentlebeings, and this is new magic for me, a gift from my living father and the spirits to mark the occasion, so I hope I don’t embarrass myself.”

It had taken the cloak and Manannán’s Bane a while to grasp how the magic of clothes when changing worked, and I thought they and spirits saw magic very differently. What was eventually worked out, with a deal of advice from Skuffles, made little sense to me, but the cloak could support itself, with Manannán’s Bane and Thunderbird’s feather, and clothes went somewhere else but could get mixed up coming back if I wasn’t careful. Coyote thought my mishaps hilarious, but Jesse told him that if he messed with me on the day she’d make it her life’s work to dye him the most violent pink she could find. With a deep breath, I felt my way into the magic, gave the Chief Justice a smile, and changed. The cloak opened to let me trot forward and leap onto a stool Adam set. I put one paw on the bible, threw my head back, and gave the longest, purest howl I’ve ever managed, answered in close harmony by Skuffles, Coyote, and my gathered sisters and brothers, sound arching over the city amid rainbows and stray snowflakes. Then I could give myself a shake, hop down, circle within the cloak, and just as carefully re-enter the magic, changing back without mishap, and feeling Thunderbird’s feather re-engage my hair as Manannán’s Bane met my hand. I turned to Underhill and spread my arms in burnished silence.

“Underhill, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh, and all Gray Lords of the Fae, I have yet to persuade you thanks need not be so dangerous between friends, but there is surely gladness today for all. And perhaps it might be that future inaugurations, where the combined oaths I have sworn are also to be sworn, will have guaranteed sunshine in recurring acknowledgement of the compact between the Fae and United States.”

Underhill smiled, and Gwyn ap Lugh nodded gravely.

“That would seem a wise tradition, Ms President. And truly we are all glad today, though Underhill must depart now.”

“I understand, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh.”

I gave Underhill a last nod and she faded, arch vanishing, sunlight narrowing and paling away as cloud and snowflakes got back to where they ought to be. Stefan closed the umbrella with a shake of relief and handed it back, telling The Dagda how glad he was made by such courtesy. Then before I could hug Adam and Jesse, and Charles and Anna, and shake the Man’s hand, and all the million things waiting for me, I finally found out what else Gordon’s feather could do. Spirit magic began, startlingly close but offering no threat, and Jesse looked up with widening eyes.

“Mom, your feather is … multiplying.”

“Just so, Mercy.” Gordon was for once human on camera but in that moment he was all Thunderbird. “To deal with matters of undrowned land a token of authority was sufficient, but now you must deal with more. And as you become the first First Person to hold your office, brightening all hopes, so we acknowledge you, President and Paramount Chief She Doesn’t Only Fix Cars, She Drops People Right In It.” He grinned, all Gordon. “And Paramount Chiefs have paramount warbonnets. Everyone knows that.”

There wasn’t anything I could do except smile as magic went right on doing, and I felt the press of a headband and growing weight. A monitor let me see it was in the most elaborate Sioux and Cheyenne traditions, but the feathers had colours no natural bird managed, including shades of my cloak and a highly amused Skuffles ; Raven, Owl, and Hawk were all represented, with a bunch of eagles, and an arc of Thunderbird’s distinctive primaries framed my face. There was deep silence until it was complete, but as First Person hollering and whooping began, other cheering behind it, I stepped to the mike and looked at musicians, catching Bob Weir’s eyes above a wide grin.

“Mr Weir, sir, I’ll be very happy to have some ‘Sugar Magnolia’ later, but just now it has to be ‘Sunshine Daydream’, don’t you think?”

He laughed, assenting, as did the Man, visibly relaxing into ex-Presidency, and musicians crashed out the staccato chords that set off and punctuated the punching lyrics.

_Sunshine daydream_

_Walk you in the tall trees_

_Going where the wind goes_

_Blooming like a red rose_

_Breathing more freely_

_Light out singing_

Bob’s voice was sharply clear, and he gave sunshine and roses a pure punch before everyone came in and the song took off for Never Never Land and brought in down to earth, and now. I spun to give Adam a kiss, feeling the warbonnet flare, and recognised his look, because he really does have a thing about me looking Amerindian and feathers had come into it before.

I kept my voice to a murmur. “Down, boy.”

“For now.” He gave a heartstopping smile. “But it’s not just that warboa.” I smiled back, swallowing a laugh and feeling some heat. “It’s just you, miracle mine, and ours. La Belle Dame Mercy, and the best hope of all preternaturals. I do love you so much more than I can ever say.”

The only possible response was to kiss him fiercely, so I did. The footage tells me the crowds went crazy for some reason, and even VIP guests allowed themselves a certain enthusiastic levity, but I can’t say I paid any of them much attention at the time. Tomorrow was soon enough.


	64. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Jesse’s eighteenth birthday fell on a Saturday, and I’d cleared the decks — surprisingly possible, as long as no crisis blew up. There was a party in the evening with a guest-list of her devising, but first thing Adam and I told her about her present, and made sure she was good with it. She was, so mid-morning I took her and Adam, with Sally and Clay, three Fishers, and Andrea, to the Garden of Manannán’s Death. Underhill had been _very_ happy after the Inauguration, and invited them all when she agreed to do as I’d asked. Donna had nervously declined, despite reassurances, but intrigue brought Clay, Jude, and Leslie, and once introductions had been made to Underhill, a relaxed ap Lugh, and Irpa, I was for once grateful for the silencing effect of the Statue of Surprising Mercy.

“Irpa can fill you in while Adam and I do some modelling.”

Underhill gestured a bower into existence, for Adam and I to change, and flipped him some slow time so to me he was done in less than a minute, though it hurt as much as ever and he took another to shake and settle. Then we trotted out, and for a breathless time showed ourselves off to Underhill, Skuffles joining in. Adam had strength, bulk, and reach on me, but not speed or agility, and in play-fighting I could dive between his legs or under his belly, as well as being small enough to land on his back. Skuffles played underhand referee, occasionally blocking us both, and with magic singing all around we gave ourselves over to the pure joy of speed and contest. Roses opened tunnels for me when I needed them, which made Adam’s wolf give me a look I returned with a jaw-drop, and the third time I was cornered I turned, sauntered up to him, and gave his nose a lick before darting underneath and making it out with nothing worse than a pulled tail. We wound up in a panting heap, and Jesse poured us water from Overhill, though Underhill supplied chased pottery bowls.

By the time we’d changed back, Underhill was cross-legged beside a wide-eyed Jesse, hands resting on her left upper arm, and the feel of magic was up. Sally was holding Jesse’s right hand, ap Lugh, Irpa, and Andrea watching intently, as was Skuffles, bellied forward with muzzle extended. Jude draped an arm over Adam’s shoulders.

“Proud of you, Dadam.”

Adam smiled, all the way to his eyes. “Even a paranoid Alpha has limits, Jude. Glamour not needles, and I can tell myself it’s a female inker.”

“Un huh. I hear all that. And then there’s sharing the love with Mercy and Skuffles so you don’t feel a fraud, hey?”

Adam slung an arm round Jude’s waist, and I leaned in to give him a kiss. It had taken me a while to work out why Jesse’s desire for a wolf-tat with his colours and brindling aroused such profound hesitation, because I’d thought it was about a male inker and bare skin, but eventually twigged he was embarrassed by the design.

“That sort of tat’s for sweethearts, love. Not daughter to father.”

I spoke carefully. “Adam, you don’t know guys with Mom tats?”

“I suppose.”

“So is there some reason girls can’t get Dad tats, beyond a dim notion girls shouldn’t get tats at all?”

“Dad tats?”

“Un huh.”

“Um …”

“Sounds like a no to me, love.”

It took some soothing, but the idea of a Mom-and-Dad tat perked him up, playing the right line with conflicts he had over Christy and Jesse’s decision to refuse further contact until she had therapy. Checking with Jesse on the principle without giving the game away was tricksy, but I managed, so my coyote was in, and Skuffles could hardly be excluded, Irpa’s tat being the inspiration, which helped Adam too. I thought his reasoning weird, if sweet, and for Jude to see it so fast was a salutary shock. Clay obviously understood too, so maybe it was a guy thing, but I was distracted as Leslie took my arm with a determined look, Jenna behind her with an eye-roll.

“Mercy, I have to report this.”

I sighed. “Who to, Leslie?” She blinked. “Let’s short-circuit the chain of command, hey? Report away.”

I got a faint smile.

“Tchaa. Ms President, there appears to be a statue of you dominating this garden.”

“Yeah, I noticed giant nude ice me, but I dunno about dominating, Leslie. The triad includes the Fountain of Uphill Justice and Untenanted Duckpond of Valorous Impossibility. I think you overrate heroic statuary.”

“Overrate …” Leslie laughed edgily, and heads turned. “Mercy, why on earth didn’t you tell anyone a sovereign ally had put up a huge praise-song to your courage?”

“Because it shows me buck-naked killing an ex-god? Underhill conceded the fig-leaf, Leslie, though it’s untrue, but the statue’s on the spot where I did what it shows. Adam has feelings on the matter, too.”

Leslie’s eyes were wide, and Jude nudged Jenna aside to hold his wife.

“That was of you, lady, I’d have feelings too. As you would if it was me.”

“But … the honour …”

“It’s about more than that, Leslie. The triad was completed by the Duckpond as Excalibur came to me in St Louis. But I know how you are with duty, so I’ll try to explain.” I sat and looked at Underhill, who cocked her head though her hands never left Jesse’s arm. “We first met when I called on your justice to defeat Manannán mac Lír, and then, or soon after, from Gwyn ap Lugh, you learned I’d unwittingly challenged Fae humour.”

“True. And you spoke truth. Once we were merrier, but cold iron came.”

I nodded, glancing at ap Lugh, who shrugged.

“You set a high bar for senses of humour, Mercedes, but ours had become dangerously brittle. Taking your words as a challenge was opportune strategy.”

“So I eventually realised.” I looked at Underhill. “Anyway, recovering your sense of humour became bound up with your awakened justice, and Manannán really had annoyed you. Hence the Fountain, yes?”

“That is a way of putting it, Mercy. You told me of Stefan Uccello’s senses of humour and honour, connecting them, and it came to me that Manannán’s madness and defiance of ancient law matched a notable lack of humour, so I agreed with Gwyn ap Lugh a lesson was needed. I hoped the fountain would amuse as well as please you, and you understood immediately, suggesting a duckpond. Triads are always agreeable, and with fountain and pond spoken for, ice sculpture seemed the best option.”

“Running water won’t hold magic, Leslie. And one reason you manifest as a child, one part of your lesson, is that the Fae need to learn and grow again?” Underhill nodded, smiling, and I spoke carefully. “So then there were two, and the Duckpond waiting in the wings. Or on them, I suppose. But all sorts of other magics were drawn in, some very old. I was responsible for Excalibur, with Carnwennan and Manannán’s Bane, and we’ve talked about liferoses, coyote luck, and the cloak orchestrating my will. It was certainly reaching out to spirit magic, and used it to open a way for the angry dead. But what was it doing Underhill?”

“What was it not, Mercedes Elf-friend? I was generous in its making, pleased to have had my justice rightly called on, and watched closely as you passed to and fro, seeking to understand what it learned of and from you. One answer to your question lies with Skuffles, for a new kind of free magical being is rare enough that very old awarenesses must change. Another lies in the magics you combine, that made Skuffles possible, for you are also new under the sun, speaking to possibility. And if you will befriend trolls, you can hardly be surprised when Thor stirs himself.”

I blinked and looked at Irpa, who grinned.

“Vorðr naming you Troll-friend sat him up some, the old sluggard, and he never liked Manannán so he approved of you anyway. Rates the Dark Smith’s swordcraft too, for all he prefers thunderbolts, and I bent his ear so he gave your spellwork a boost as it passed through.”

“Ah. Do please tell him how glad I am to hear that, Irpa. I knew someone else had fed power in, but not who.”

My gaze went to ap Lugh, who gave the faintest shrug.

“You have never met Thor, so how should you? And he was not the only one. Let us say you sensed in that moment several deep realignments, that may reveal themselves in time.” I gave him a look and he smiled his austere smile. “Happily for all, Ms President, as steps on our Path of Mercy.”

“I am glad to hear it, Prince Gwyn ap Lugh.” I turned. “So there you go, Leslie. Still want to report anything? I think I more-or-less understand what went down. If I squint. But it’d take several thousand pages to explain and still be crazy speculative. And what would State do about my being gladdened by Thor? Do we need a Norwegian crisis?”

Irpa and Andrea laughed, and Leslie gave a half-hearted glare.

“Mercy’s right, Leslie. Does the government need more dead-end paperwork? And you _have_ reported. Counsel says you’re covered.”

“So does the President, SAC. And I still think the statue’s real purpose is to embarrass me into being hesitant about requesting lets to bring humans through.” Fae laughed, and I returned a rueful grin. “If your urge to report is really bothering you, tell the AED under oath of secrecy, and he can tell State what he thinks he should.”

“And the Man, Mom. Ex-Man. Remember him asking what he’d missed?”

“Fair enough, Jesse. You’re still in touch, Leslie?”

“Yeah. He said you OK’d talking about the Freed.”

“Yup. And whatever, if the line’s secure. Talk to him and the AED about anything that troubles you. I’ve never had a friend elected President, or been a lower-ranked federal officer, but I’ll bet it has bits that suck. I brought you today to try to ease that. Jesse has been able to talk to Andrea, but not Jenna or Sally, and Ymir probably said _geasan_ because of the wish I expressed, when I first saw the statue, that no human know of it without my let. Would Ymir count that a geas, Gwyn ap Lugh?”

“Certainly. Being spoken here, of that triad, by you, gave it great power ere I endorsed it. Both your geasan stand, Mercedes.”

“I am glad to know it, Gwyn ap Lugh, for my wish is unchanged. It’s not just modesty and Adam’s feelings, Leslie. I dunno if this’ll make sense, but Coyote once said he didn’t have much stuff because stuff was sessile, and he was so not. Nor am I. I’m at deep odds with it, somehow.”

Clay had been quiet but sat forward. “I’ve had to use my service weapon to kill, and I would not want that moment depicted on an honour board.”

Leslie blinked, I gave Clay a grateful look, and he nodded.

“Can’t say I’m not glad to have seen it, though, Mercy, or that I don’t strongly approve.” He gave Underhill a bow. “If we did a whip-round for a statue of you downtown wallets would come out fast”

“Don’t even think it, Clay.”

Jenna patted Leslie’s arm. “Mr Willis is right, Mom. I know the Duty Thing has a grip, but the Awesome just caught up with you.”

Sally nodded. “Dizzy moment, Ms Fisher, and with so much magic about you’re probably a bit fried anyway. I know I am. Just enjoy the now, and think about it again when you’re Overhill.”

Adam, Jude, and Clay gave thumbs-ups, and Andrea laughed.

“Smart, smart, smart, Sal and Jen. You give me so much hope.”

“As you do me, Sally Willis and Jenna Fisher.”

Underhill was earnest, and power flickered as she reached out both hands in sudden silence to cup and lift away two roses, presenting them to Sally and Jenna without obligation, in honour of their support for me though Jesse. I was holding Adam’s hand as tightly as he was holding mine, and the image I sent him of four liferoses and the cloak playing cards with Coyote in the Rose Garden made him give me an appalled look before we realised Underhill had taken her hands off Jesse’s arm.

At first the skin we stared at was bare, then Adam’s wolf popped up, dropping its jaw in greeting. A moment later my coyote thrust a head between Adam’s front legs, grinning, and Skuffles pushed in from one side. Underhill was holding a mirror for Jesse, and others’ attention was torn from the liferoses Sally and Jenna held. Leslie’s gasp brought Jenna’s head up, and her eyes widened.

“Sal! Look!”

After a long moment with everyone staring as wolf and coyotes ducked in and out of frame, and chased one another into the distance before popping back up, Jesse looked up at her friends, something crackling that everyone felt, then shifted to face Underhill, and bowed.

“Underhill, on this day that I come of age you make me very glad indeed. I regret thanks would be unwise. May I ask two questions?”

“Certainly, though I make no promise to answer.”

“Of course. Was this gift of a glamour tattoo … untroubling to do?”

“Novelty is a welcome challenge, Jesse Hauptman. There is no grave cost to the magic, though care is needed in gifting glamour to human skin.”

“I am glad to learn so. Is this a magic you might be willing to offer other humans, on the recommendation of those who hold liferoses?”

Intrigue ratcheted into tension as I guessed where Jesse was going with this, and you bet She Steps Sideways Too.

“It may be, Jesse Hauptman. Who might earn such recommendations?”

Jesse spread her hands carefully. “It is a matter of cachet, Underhill. A glamour tattoo will be greatly desired.”

“I am to be a prize?”

There was an edge to Underhill’s voice, and Jesse snapped upright.

“No, not at all. I mean no disrespect. I simply observe you have strongly supported Mercy’s fight to change Overhill and its ways, not least in your grants of liferoses, and as simply ask if you would be willing, in the matter of glamour tattoos, to provide their holders with a weapon in need, as you did Mercedes Elf-friend. Forgive me if I trespass over any boundary I do not perceive.” Jesse shrugged, voice lightened. “Keeping kiddos on song matters, and is not always easy. A deliverable reward for true merit would be potent, and need not be as complex as this you freely give me. Sal?”

“Exactly right, Jesse. Underhill, ma’am, a star that spun or changed colour would be plenty.”

“And maybe a one-up — a second star, or stylised coyote.” Jenna’s hands worked. “Not ranks, but, like, bronze, silver, gold. Kids don’t usually have the anti-preternatural bias adults pick up. You know about Others 101? Well, this would be a part. And if you were … awarding a tat, for outstanding service to the Path of Mercy, you or whatever Gray Lord could do really good PR. Jesse, Sal, and I would be happy to do the social media side for you, without obligation, of course.”

I felt Adam’s rising amusement, and saw Jude’s, Leslie’s, and Clay’s. The consternation on ap Lugh’s face was just as plain, Andrea was off in the Awesome, with which I sympathised, Irpa was swallowing a troll laugh, and Underhill had an increasingly unholy look of appreciation as she looked at Jenna and Sally, and back to Jesse, who waggled a hand.

“Call it honorary membership of the League of Kiddos, and say glamour _really_ rocks.”

The unholy look got unholier, and I leaned against Adam, his arms tightening around me.

“We are in _so_ much trouble.”

“I know, love.” Adam’s laughter was a rumble in my heart. “It’s the very best kind of trouble, mind.”

There was no arguing with that, so I didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Afterword
> 
> Yes, I know it’s all perfectly absurd, alas, but really — wouldn’t you rather, than our presently dismal trans-Pond realities? And if we can’t daydream pleasantly in fiction, where can we?
> 
> One of Lois McMaster Bujold’s characters in her World of the Five Gods series once asks any god who’ll listen for mercy, not justice, because if there were really divine justice where could any of us ever hope to be? But one can, in fiction, deal some temporal justice, from time to time, if you look at it right.
> 
> I owe apologies to living Real Persons, including Bob Weir, Phil Lesh, Bill Kreutzman, Mickey Stewart, Dave Lemieux, Jorma Kaukonen, Bob Dylan, the Boss, Ray Davies, Clyde Aspevig, and Marcus Amerman, as well as the late Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter, for taking their names and amazing artistry in political vein. I broadly disapprove of RP fic, but all things considered I hope they won’t mind too much as, however idiosyncratically, I express only admiration. Wolf Blitzer, however, gets no apology, nor anyone in political life whose probable ID you might work out. Go figure.
> 
> B’Jack,  
> August 2020


End file.
